Her Blue-Eyed Corporal (Soldiers 0f Swing Book 2)

by Linda Ellen

Out walked Lieutenant Colonel Kelley H. Lewis, the commanding officer of the post, Eric Gardner, Controller of Operations for DuPont, and a man Steve had never seen around the plant before.

  He watched as the lieutenant colonel stood with the men for about a minute, pointing and seeming to be giving directions or instruction. Then he touched the bill of his cap as he bid them adieu, and climbed into a black 1940 Buick Super Sport Coupe. The three of lesser rank saluted him as he drove by the parked jeep. He returned the salutes, but even as they murmured about what a swank car the commander had, the men could tell he seemed to have a lot on his mind.

  Gardner and the other man turned toward a late model Packard parked near the door. The third man, an older gentleman who appeared to be in his sixties, wore a dark suit with a black overcoat and a gray felt hat, and in his hand he carried an unlit pipe. He looked over toward Steve and the two in the jeep. As he made eye contact with Steve and raised his pipe in acknowledgment, a chill went down Steve’s spine. He gave the man a vague nod in return.

  Steve turned back to his friends.

  “Who is that with Gardner?” he asked, indicating the subject with a toss of his head over his shoulder.

  Cpl. Jones met his eyes, flicked his gaze at the automobile as it backed out of its parking spot, and then back to Steve again. “His name is Simon Koedel. I was in the administration building killing time Friday, and Commander Lewis’ orderly told me about the request. Seems he’s some kind of shareholder for several defense contractors, and he’s a member of the AOA,” he explained, meaning the Army Ordnance Association, a trade organization of contractors for the U.S. Military. “Told Commander Lewis he’d like to be taken on a guided tour and given detailed storage statistics, suppliers, security measures, technical data, and the latest developments in the labs. Said he wanted to make a report on them at a stockholder’s meeting.”

  “Koedel, huh? Isn’t that a German name?” Steve pondered out loud as he watched the car head toward the Indiana Ordnance Works #1 building.

  “Sure is,” Jones and Merlot agreed as they also watched the subject of discussion.

  “Well,” Steve began, lifting a hand to his cap to give his head a scratch. “I hope he’s on the up and up. Wouldn’t we all be suckers if he were a spy for Hitler or something?”

  The three kept their eyes on the Packard for a moment, but then Cpl. Jones gave a negative shake of his head. “Nah, he’s been cleared by all channels. Surely if he were some kind of spy, the F.B.I. would have records…would know about him. But anyway, sounds like that’s above my pay grade, if you know what I mean,” he joked, leaning back in his seat and tipping his cap over his eyes. “That’s for the higher-ups to worry about.”

  Steve gave a soft laugh, but something didn’t feel right. Something seemed stuck in his craw. At any rate, he cuffed the other corporal on the arm and uttered, “Guess so. Catch ya later,” he added as he turned to walk away. I hope they’re right…

  “One, two, three dollars, and ten, twenty, thirty and two cents. There you go, Mrs. Klemper,” Mary June finished counting out change for a customer paying a loan payment at the bank where she and Vivian worked – the main branch of the Home Federal Savings & Loan, on Fifth Street.

  “This silver will go right into the bond jar when I get home,” the little old woman replied. “I’m saving up to buy a war bond, you know – in honor of my grandson, Harold,” she added, grandmotherly pride shining in her eyes. “He’s serving in the Navy…on a ship somewhere in the Pacific. Mr. Klemper and I are so proud of him. He writes whenever he gets the chance…but he’s so busy, you know. Well, I’ll see you next month. Thank you, young lady.”

  “You’re welcome, Ma’am,” Mary June nodded as the slightly bent-over, silver-haired lady smiled and turned to make her way toward the door. Mary June watched her go for a few moments, and then looked over at Vivian, who was making sure the paperwork from her last transaction was correct.

  “So, what were we talking about? Oh yeah, you were telling me about some guy taking pictures out at Knox?”

  Viv nodded as she finished counting, and then sat back on her stool. “Yeah, it was last week. Gene told me the commander asked him to escort the guy around. His name was Alfred Palmer, I think. He’s with something called the Office of War Information.” She hesitated briefly while she completed a quick deposit for a customer at her barred window. When the man walked away, she continued, “Anyway, Gene drove him out to the tank range and the man took lots of photographs of the tanks on maneuvers, tanks in the mud, soldiers in the tanks…stuff like that.”

  “What do they want pictures of all of that for?” Mary June asked, wondering why anyone would want to look at pictures of muddy old tanks.

  “Beats me,” Viv shrugged and reached for her pocketbook in the drawer under her station and set about rummaging through it for her nail file. “Gene said the man was very nice, though. He told Gene that he is traveling all around the states, visiting the different defense factories and photographing the workers – and most of them so far have been women! Plus, he said he’s using color negatives – can you imagine? Something called Koda…kodacream… no, kodachrome. It’s a newfangled kind of film. He even took a shot of Gene sitting in his jeep. Mr. Palmer is going to have one of those printed and send it to him for me,” she added, flashing a twinkling look at her friend. “For my scrapbook.”

  Mary June laughed, contemplating, “Think he’ll make a trip over to Charlestown to take some pictures? The ammunition plant is just as important as the tanks, I’d think. Heck, you can’t fight a war without ammo, right? Without ammunition, those tanks would just be big, heavy, armored cars on tracks!” she giggled. “Plus, the unit out there guarding the plant day and night, protecting it from intruders and every kind of sabotage… those soldiers are important, too. I’m sure Gene would like to have a picture of his brother on guard duty or something,” she added quickly.

  Viv pursed her lips. “And maybe somebody I know might want a copy, too?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea who you’re flapping your gums about,” Mary June returned, resisting the urge to playfully stick out her tongue at her friend, after all, they were at work and needed to at least act professional.

  Glancing at the large clock on the wall across from the teller cages, she said, “Oh good, it’s lunchtime. Let’s go to Lulu’s, that new café a few blocks down that Betty told us about. I’m starved.”

  “I’m right behind you,” Viv replied as she put the “Out to Lunch” sign in front of the bars of her teller window.

  As they walked down the windy business district, each girl pulled the collars of their coats a bit tighter. Viv fastened the top button and cinched the belt of her raincoat-style jacket as a shiver raced down her body. “Jumpin’ Jehosaphat,” she mumbled as she glimpsed her friend, who was cringing in her own wide-sleeved, big-buttoned, short coat. “Why is it that it always feels ten degrees colder with the wind whistling between these big buildings?”

  “You got me, but it sure does,” Mary June grumbled. “Wish I would have worn my older coat, it’s longer on my legs. Let’s hurry.”

  The girls picked up their pace, making it to the café in record time and gratefully climbing onto the swivel-stools at the counter of the pleasantly warm, bustling café. Training their eyes on the menu on the wall while removing their outer garments, Viv casually asked, “So, did you have a good time with Steve yesterday?”

  Mary June arranged her wool jacket on the back of her seat and placed her pocketbook on her lap before shooting a side look at her friend. “Yes…most the time.”

  She was surprised when Vivian laughed out loud. “You mean his penchant for teasing the fire out of people kind of gets your goat?”

  Mary June laughed. “Possibly.” Thinking of several instances of that very thing, she gave her head a quick shake. “Sometimes he can be so sweet and thoughtful…even gentle – like when he was coaxing me up the steps of the tower, or when he helped me hold those h
eavy binoculars.” She paused, reliving those sweet interludes before adding, “But then other times, he says or does things that makes me want to choke him, like when he was behind us going up, shaking the steps and giving that evil laugh when we screamed. Or when he told me my dress reminded him of a tablecloth. Or sometimes when I’m trying to say something serious and he’s cracking jokes – makes me want to break something over his head.”

  Viv eyed her friend closely, a knowing grin plastered on her face. “My goodness. I’d say our Steve knows how to unleash some mighty powerful emotions in you.”

  Mary June met the truth in her friend’s amused eyes and gave a soft snort. “He sure does. I just don’t know how to take him sometimes,” she added, chuckling. “I wish he was more like Gene,” she admitted softly.

  The waitress arrived and they voiced their orders, then waited for her to walk away before continuing. “Well, he’s not. Gene’s one of a kind,” the sergeant’s fiancée declared. “But you know what? I like Steve just the way he is. He’s his own person, in spite of the fact that there are two carbon copies of him running around,” she teased. “His personality is a product of his upbringing. But I’ll say this – I think Gene has been a good influence on him since they found one another. And Steve has been on Gene as well.”

  Curious at that revelation, Mary June queried, “How so?”

  “Gene seems more relaxed and even happy-go-lucky lately. More so than when we first met. It’s as if he’s more, um…complete within himself.”

  Mary June thought about that for a trice as the waitress brought their tuna and chicken salad sandwiches. “I guess you’re right. I hadn’t noticed; it’s been so subtle.”

  After a few minutes of companionable eating amidst the tinkling of silverware, quiet conversations, and Bing Crosby crooning The Very Thought of You on the radio at the other end of the spotless chrome and white counter, Viv swallowed a bite and reached for her glass to take a long drink of her iced tea. As she placed it back down, she casually asked, “Okay, so…does Mr. Wheeler elicit any other kind of emotions in you besides frustration and rage?”

  Mary June had been pondering that very question, knowing her best friend would ask sooner or later. Her emotions and thoughts were so scrambled when it came to that exasperating man. What did she feel for him, when one second, she hoped he would grab her and kiss her – which he had yet to even try – and the next he was acting like an errant little boy and she was looking around for a stick to whack him with. Now, she wiped her mouth with her napkin and met her friend’s inquisitive gaze.

  “I have to admit, he does. When he’s being sweet…his touch sends tingles up and down my skin. His voice, when he’s being nice, is like warm honey and it flows smoothly into my ears. Makes me want to sigh… I’ve never felt that way about a man before…but it’s frustrating when he ruins the moment and the warm honey turns to Kentucky clay,” she added, giving her best friend a playful pout.

  Viv’s eyes twinkled merrily. “As the man himself would say, like a jeep stalled on synthetic gas?”

  “Yep, that’s it to a T!” Both girls giggled together as they paid for their meals and rose to scramble back to work.

  Despite the fact that the man could infuriate her with the uttering of a few teasing words, Mary June hoped he would take the initiative to find her phone number and…perhaps call up to ask her for a date.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Another night, another dollar,” Steve grumbled to Pvt. Sheldon several nights later as the two were once again on night patrol – a different section on the backside of IOW #1.

  “Yep,” the younger man replied, stifling a yawn. “It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s gotta do it,” he snickered.

  The two men were making the rounds in a jeep, but this time a newer model Ford GPW with a few extra gadgets, like more comfortable seats, a fire extinguisher, and a plug-in spotlight. As Steve drove along, the private kept their regular flashlight trained on the fence line.

  “This is a nice ride,” Steve commented, glancing across at his companion. His eyes widened as he saw the young man was balancing the flashlight on his leg as he fumbled with a pack of Marlboros and a lighter.

  “What the heck? I thought you didn’t smoke, Sheldon. Didn’t you tell me your Grandma would skin you alive if…” he paused as the private shot him a look.

  “She would have.”

  “So…what are you doin’?”

  The young soldier seemed to be blushing as he sheepishly looked down at the pack and removed a cigarette – and then struggled to light it as the jeep bounced over several clumps of grass. He drew in a few puffs and promptly began to cough. Steve laughed out loud.

  “Aww heck with it,” Sheldon mumbled, stubbing the thing out against the side of the vehicle and flicking it away into the grass.

  Steve chuckled again. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?”

  Sheldon huffed a disgusted sigh and scrubbed his hand over his boyish face. Casting another look at his older, more experienced companion, the young man coughed once more and mumbled, “It was just…those girls…you know – outside the gate.”

  Steve’s brows furrowed for a moment as he searched his brain for what the boy might be talking about, and then he remembered. “The cigarette girls? The ones who operate that stand out next to the main gate on Highway 62?” He had seen the young girls more than once when he’d had occasion to drive in or out of the gate during their hours of operation. From what he understood, they had been given permission to set up and run a booth selling cigarettes, cigars, and most of the paraphernalia that went along with smoking. He’d thought that a bit odd since the plant workers were searched every morning for matches and could be fired on the spot if they brought any inside.

  “Yeah, see…a couple of days ago, I was coming in the administration building and just as I passed Commander Lewis going out, and I saluted him, we both heard the girls out there start hollering. Couldn’t tell what was wrong, so the major told me to go take care of whatever it was…”

  He hesitated, so Steve prompted, “Yeah…and?”

  “Well, seems some local boys – I knew ’em, it was the Furman brothers and their cousin Georgie. They’re all punks. They were teasing the girls, grabbing the products like they were gonna run off with them, knocking stuff over – you know – just bein’ punks. I chased ’em off and told ’em they better not bother the girls again ’cause if they did, I’d make good use of my carbine and let ’em have it. That put the fear of God into ’em,” he let out a snort as he recalled the episode.

  “Okay…but that doesn’t explain you suddenly taking up cig…” Steve cut himself off as his teeth flashed white in the moonlight. “Ahh, I see. So…tell me about the girls.”

  Warming to the subject, Sheldon sat up a bit straighter, still managing to do a fairly good job of keeping his eye on the fence line. “They’re real nice girls. Would you believe they’re only fourteen and sixteen? Their dad works in the bag factory and they said he got the commander to let them set up their stand. Said they’re making a killing out there, especially at shift-change time. Their dad built the booth – it’s big inside with plenty of storage and two chairs, and even a radio. It’s got a hatch part that makes a roof for shade, on hinges so they can let it down and lock it when they’re gone. They told me their parents let them both quit school to work it, can you believe that?” he added in amazement.

  “That’s odd, all right,” Steve agreed. “So, what are these girls’ names?”

  “The younger one is Pauline and they call her Paulie, and the one older is June…McDaniel.”

  “So…you decided you’d take up smoking. Let me guess – one of them caught your fancy, right? Which one, Paulie or June?” Steve asked, barely holding in a snicker at the boy’s obviously smitten condition. Although he was only seven years older than the private – in comparison, he felt like an old man. The soldier reminded him of himself at that age – not quite up to a man’s potential, but not a boy
anymore either. Without Steve’s awareness, the kid had become somewhat of a younger brother to him.

  Sheldon let out a soft snort and flashed a glance at Steve. “June. She sure is a pretty thing. Paulie is too, except the skin under one of her eyes is kind of messed up. Not bad, though. But June…she’s a real looker.”

  “And if you buy cigarettes from them, it gives you an excuse to go out there now and then,” Steve stated. “Good plan.”

  “My grandpa always said a fella’s gotta make an impression somehow,” the boy shrugged with a chuckle.

  Steve was just about to say he liked the girl’s name, when something at the fence, illuminated by the private’s light, caught his eye. “Hey, look there – what’s that?” He stopped the jeep and moved the gear lever into reverse, backing up to get a better look. Both men quickly jumped out of the transport and jogged to the now visible disturbance. The ground showed fresh signs of digging, and there was a two-foot deep hole under one section, big enough for a man to crawl through.

  The hair on the back of Steve’s neck prickled. It was just as he’d feared – somebody had gotten in! He knew that it hadn’t been long since the other patrol had gone past, so the perpetrators had to be nearby. His adrenaline skyrocketed and every ounce of military training kicked into high gear. Instantly, he pulled rank on his companion.

  “Get back in the jeep, now!” he barked, bolting around to the driver’s side. They piled in and Steve ordered, “Get that spotlight behind the seat and plug it in.”

  Shaking with nerves, Sheldon complied and soon a bright white light lit up the area. Steve grabbed it and aimed the beam around the immediate section, and then swung it in a slow, sweeping arc back toward the plant. His pulse jack hammered and his stomach dropped as he made out three dark figures running full tilt about one hundred yards from the fence, and toward the back of the factory.

  “Three perps headed toward the back of #1! Hold this – and hang on,” he demanded as he shoved the spotlight at his partner, jerked the wheel, and gunned the motor. The tires sprayed dirt and grass backward in a dark plume before the jeep took off with a roar and Steve fumed about the stupidity of their jeeps not being equipped with two-way radios. I guess the brass figured since we weren’t in a war zone, they weren’t needed.