The aircraft banked into a shallow left turn and started to descend with a sudden loss of engine noise. It was several seconds before Brad realized that they weren't about to crash into the East China Sea, the pilot had just reduced the power on all four engines. He looked out the tiny cabin window and down across the sloping upper surface of the silvery wing. Off the left wing tip he could see twinkling city lights and a scattering of yellowish headlights threading their way along a north-south highway. He looked forward, ahead of the leading edge of the wing picking out the highway and the line of northbound headlights which merged with and disappeared amongst the distinctive lineup of airport runway lights.
The aircraft rolled level and over the leading edge of the wing he made out a the jagged line of green and white breakers with their glowing phosphorescent marking the collision of the East China Sea with Okinawa's ancient coral reef.
Gus stirred slightly in the security of Brad’s right elbow. He watched her tiny face and its innocent expression of peace never changed as the Kadena Air Force Base runway approach lights flashed under the DC8's belly and they landed with a thump and the quick, but repeated screeching of tires on dry concrete as first the right landing gear touched down followed in a fraction of a second by the left set of tires. The sudden surge of power from the aircraft's engines slowed the aircraft and pulled Brad forward against his lap belt.
"Thank you, Brad. I want you to meet my husband before you go to Naha. You have to come to dinner so I can repay you for your help. Besides, Gus will want to see you again."
Brad just smiled and softly placed Gus in Sandy's arms. He silently said his good-byes. He didn’t really think that Sandy’s officer husband would appreciate his good looking wife inviting some stray Seabee enlisted man to dinner. Especially an E-4 she had picked up on an airplane over the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
He let himself get caught in the slow moving gaggle of wives and noisy kids knowing they would help make his departure easier and less complicated.
Gus will understand. He thought as he felt a familiar small hand take his left wrist.
"Are you sneaking away without claiming your reward, Sailor?"
She knew he didn't like to be called a sailor. And Brad knew he was being had. Sandy was alone. The happy expression of anticipation gone from her young face.
"I'm sorry, but my husband couldn't make it. He sent a driver to pick us up. I really wanted him to meet you so we could thank you properly, Brad. But this will just have to do."
Sandy's arms around his neck were surprisingly strong as she stood on tiptoes and placed her soft, dusty rose lips fully against his cheek.
Sandy's arms were still around his neck when he looked over the top of her head and saw the Army buck sergeant who had been sent to pickup Sandy and her children. He was watching with obvious distaste. Brad thought he disliked the idea of the wife of one of his fine, outstanding officers smooching a strange sailor in the middle of the air terminal. His distaste quickly changed to embarrassment when he saw that Brad was also watching him. Realizing how pathetic the dogface was as he gingerly held a sleepy Gus like she was a crate of eggs about to spill their yolks all over him. And her brother hanging from his right pant leg like a bewildered puppy.
"Thank you, Brad. Gus will miss you."
At least I care about you guys. Brad thought to himself with a bit of arrogance as he contemplated what could make a man miss his wife's arrival to a far off land after being separated for over six months, Especially a lady as sexy as Sandy was.
He kept walking towards the counter where the Navy ATCO was waiting to check him aboard Okinawa.
THREE
January 7, 1964, Tuesday. It was about zero six thirty hours and the eastern horizon was starting to take on an intense orange glow when Brad walked by the snack bar and started out of the terminal at Kadena AFB. The smell of frying bacon and hash browns should have reminded him that he hadn't had a solid meal for over twenty hours but he wasn't hungry.
With just a touch of disappointment he realized that since he had departed Travis on January 5 January 6, his birthday, was missing. Except for a few fleeting minutes somewhere between 2300 hours on January 5, and 2400 hours on January 6, it was gone.
Vaporized? Maybe not vaporized, just gone. I'd settle for gone.
Am I still 26, or did I age to 27?
Do I have to count those missing hours? Maybe I was asleep. If I was, do they count?
He argued with himself for a couple more minutes before deciding since Okinawa was a day ahead of the United States it didn't matter if he consciously observed the time or not because he was in fact 27.
I lost an argument with myself. That's pretty bad.
The predawn air was still and sultry on his face when he walked out the front door of the air terminal in his hot, wool dress blues. He dumped his sea bag on the edge of the concrete sidewalk and sank down on it to wait for his ride to the Naha Naval Air Facility 15 miles down island. The Navy ATCO had assured Brad that it would be arriving momentarily.
He sat on his sea bag and watched the sky continue to get brighter with a multitude of reds and oranges resembling a Pacific Northwest forest fire in the dark of the moon. Brad was getting hotter and wetter with sweat as every new inch of sun crested the horizon. A cool bead of sweat running down between his shoulder blades tickled and he shrugged to let his damp skivvie shirt suck it up.
A light breeze finally sprang up to announce the full arrival of the sub-tropical sun. Although it made breathing easier the breeze did little to cool him off.
Brad checked his watch again and realized that he had been sitting there for only about 20 minutes. The heat, lack of sleep and an overall grungy and unwashed feeling dominated his mind and made him more irritable as the minutes dragged on. He was trying to think about how good a cool shower and clean sheets would feel, and couldn't really push the thoughts of his physical discomfort away. If anything, the thoughts made him more aware of how really nasty he was.
He heard a bus before it came into view, but immediately lost interest when he realized that according to the ATCO it was coming from the wrong direction and once in view it was a blue Air Force bus.
The squealing protest of a combination of dry, unlubricated steel and rust brought his attention back to the bus as its passenger door swung open. Brad turned in time to see a set of bare legs flash beneath a mid-calf length white skirt when she stepped off the bus. The skirt had a narrow dark blue ribbon sewed around the hem and was so heavily starched he was sure it would break when it bumped against the door of the bus.
By American standards they were short legs, but they were beautiful. Each well developed muscle was firm and clearly defined to create two shapely masterpieces. On her small feet the girl wore flat-heeled slippers made of a soft black leather.
As if he had x-ray vision a bit of silken thigh flashed through Brad’s imagination when the petite doll-girl stepped down onto the sidewalk. She hesitated for a sliver of time before starting along the sidewalk toward him.
Brad Burgess wasn’t very tall, about 5' 7" in stocking feet weighing in at a hard 126 pounds, but as the girl approached he began to realize just how big he was on the island of Okinawa. He studied her as she drew nearer. The girl wasn't quite five feet tall and weighed less than ninety pounds. Those ninety pounds were beautifully arranged. Her breasts weren't large, but under the tight fitting bodice of her starched dress they were perfectly symmetrical and in absolute proportion to the rest of her compact body. Involuntarily he found himself looking up into the most beautiful almond shaped, dark brown eyes he had ever seen. Outlined with shiny black, thick lashes and eyebrows, her eyes grabbed and captured Brad in their depths.
She looks about 15. But there is a maturity about her face and body. He thought continuing to watch the small girl. For him, time stopped momentarily. White, even teeth sparkled in a friendly smile when her eyes released their
hold on him an iota of a second before she stepped around his sea bag. He watched her hurry toward the heavy glass doors of the terminal's waiting room.
She isn't a girl. That is ALL woman!
He watched in admiration when she walked through the glass doors and across the terminal floor. The white skirt stretched tightly across her beautifully formed backside and emphasized her gracefully feminine walk.
"Oh, my God, I'm in love." Brad heard himself say.
"Hey! You the Seabee going to Naha?"
He felt the heat of embarrassment flash across his cheeks and knew his ears were glowing red when he heard the sound of a deep male voice speaking American. He was so engrossed in the girl that Brad hadn't heard the ugly gray, Navy six pac pull up to the curb in front of the Air Force bus. The driver was hollering through his open window, and Brad was certain he had heard his vocal declaration of love for the beautiful girl.
"Yeah, I am. Where in hell have you been?"
"Sleeping, man. I've had the duty for the last two nights." The driver spoke slowly and matter-of-factly. Brad couldn't hear even a hint of aggression in the driver's voice when he stepped up to the side of the six pac. Through the open window he could see that the driver was dressed in tailor made, but very wrinkled, dungarees. Not only had the dungarees and short sleeved chambray shirt been worked in, they looked as if they had been slept in. His light brown hair hung down over his forehead partially obscuring his flattened fighter's nose and flashing green eyes. And he needed a haircut.
"Larry-san! Hey you, Luber-boy!"
The driver and Brad both turned towards the high pitched voice.
She was walking very fast, almost trotting towards them from the Air Force bus. Dressed in the same uniform as the first petite girl, but she was most decidedly not petite. She was tall and square. At least two inches taller than Brad and twenty pounds heavier, but the graceful motion of hands and hips were there. Her round face had small pock marks which ruined the image of her soft flawless Asian complexion, but they in no way distracted from her beauty. Her eyes, which Brad would learn, were pure Okinawan not Japanese. They had no hint of an eyelid fold, and were large, round and a beautiful, soft brown.
"Kaiko-chan? Where have you been, you big beautiful woman?" The driver hollered back while he was hurriedly exiting the 6 pac.
"I quit the Clover and leave Noumanoui for good. That place got to be number ten for me. You won't shack-up with me, Larry, then merchant man give me the clap for five dollar. Cheap bastard not want to pay for all night. He say he stay with me all week, until his ship leave. Then after he get me one time he go back to the bar. He never come back."
"I'm sorry, Kaiko, but I told you not to go with merchant sailors. They're nothing but trouble.
"I go to work in snack bar now Larry. You come see me? Come home with me, okay? You number one for me Larry, come my home, pease."
"Where are you living, Kaiko? Kadena?"
"No way, I have big house in Old Koza. No GIs come anymore so Mama-san let me have big house real cheap.
"Okay. What time you get off work Friday night? I won't have the duty this weekend so I'll stay all weekend with you."
"Sixteen hundred, Larry-san. You meet me on BC Street?"
“Yeah, but not before nineteen hundred. I'll meet you in the Goya Restaurant and buy you some gohon."
Brad watched and listened to the exchange between these two very ethnically different people in amazement. Neither were fluent in the other's language, but nonetheless they communicated and got their wants known to the other.
"Here, throw your sea bag in the back seat. Put your AWOL bag in there too.
Nice, huh?"
"What?" Brad was still lost in his own thoughts and it took him a second or two to realize that the Seabee was talking to him.
"The nesan, 'girl' to you. I love every one of them. Larry Perkins, I'm a builder." The Seabee driver proclaimed as he stuck out a work calloused hand.
"You're a driver, huh? What mob you out of?"
Perkins rambled on not allowing Brad to answer as they shook hands.
"I came from MCB 11. There's three or four of us at Naha from 11.
"Come on, get in. The chow hall closes at eight-thirty but we can make it in time for breakfast if I hurry. The speed limit on Highway One is only 40 MPH but I came up at over 50 all the way. The traffic is just starting to pick up so we'll have to go back a little slower."
Brad kept waiting for Perkins to run down and stop his monologue. When he didn't, Brad began to suspect he really didn't care which battalion he came from.
Brad quit trying to interject an answer between Perkins’ sentences a long time before he finally turned towards Brad with a questioning look. Now he was ready for an answer.
"I was just waiting for you to run down so I could talk. Do you always go on like this?"
"Shit! I'm sorry, man. Like I said, I'm a builder, but I'm assigned to the motor pool. I've been busting my ass on a building project at the motor pool. Adding on a new bunk-room. And I've had the duty in the motor pool for the last two nights in a row."
"MCB 10. I was on Adak with 10. The main body of the battalion went to the Philippines. About four hundred drivers and mechanics got to go on the scenic Aleutian tour. We were Det. India. "Name is Burgess. Brad Burgess. My friends call me Brad.
"You ticked because I ruined your beauty sleep this morning, Perkins?"
"Oh, hell no, Brad. It sure isn't your fault. The motor pool duty section is short handed so we've been working port and starboard for the last two weeks."
"Besides, I got to see Kaiko-san and I can get laid this weekend for nothing." He added with a faraway look in his eyes.
Brad didn't say anything but he was thinking that there is more going on than Perkins picking up a girl for the weekend.
"Shit! The duty every other night, Perkins? That's worse than a battalion. How long will it go on?"
"This should be the last week of it. With you and another driver who checked in a month or so ago, and a mechanic transferring from MCB 11 this week, we'll be short but can go back to one in four."
"Who is the other driver?"
"Mike Branch. Do you know Mike?"
"Branch, Marion. The reserve is here already, huh?"
"Sure enough, Brad. And he's already pissed off the Division Chief."
Brad expected and was not disappointed to find Marion Branch, AKA 'Mike' and 'Twig' Branch had already arrived and was in the know of what was happening in the NAF Naha Transportation Division, but also the off-base bar scene.
Brad and Mike had been together in MCB 10's "Alpha" Company on Adak, AK last year as well as receiving their orders to NAF Naha at the same time. Mike lived with his dad in Port Hueneme so he hadn't bothered to take leave before coming to Naha.
"Mike was on Adak with us. He and I got our orders to Naha at the same time. He's always pissing someone off. How did he get to the Chief?"
"He got caught by the RASP in a Giagonji whorehouse the second night he was here. Or rather, coming out of the whorehouse."
"What's the RASP?"
"It's the Ryukyu Armed Services Police. They're glorified military police. Besides the Army MPs, there are Navy, Marine shore patrol and Air Force APs on it. A multi-service unit."
"How come they picked him up for coming out of a whorehouse? Are they off limits, Larry?"
"These are. Kind of, anyway. Giagonji is a part of Naha City that's off limits to GIs. It really isn't any big deal. The Okinawans just want to keep it for themselves. The teahouses don't have 'A' signs, and the whores aren't stamped 'U.S. Government Grade A Certified'. In other words, the girls aren't checked at the military V.D. Clinic.
"Some of us go to Giagonji with the Okinawans. We get away from the Naha AFB zoomies and the fleet sailors whenever a ship is in. Besides, its fun. These girls don't see too many GIs like the girls in Noumanoui do, s
o the Giagonji nesans treat us real nice. We have more money to spend than the average Okinawan and we can get them stuff out of the Exchange."
"Did they write Mike up?"
"Yeah, they had to. But the Public Works Officer, our real boss Lieutenant Commander Tole, told the Division Chief to handle it with non-judicial punishment since Branch had only been on the island for less than a week and didn't know where he was. Commander Tole said that he was probably lost in all those narrow windy streets down there, and he was smiling all the time, but it went right over the Chief's head so Mike lost his liberty card for a week."
"Who's the Division Chief, Larry"?
"Chief Lambert. Builder Chief." Perkins caught the expression of distaste which flashed across Brad face.
"You know Lambert? Yeah, you did in 10 last year." Perkins answered his own question. "Have trouble with him?"
"Not really. Seems like I always caught the duty with him and to him 'sweep down, fore and aft' was something from the Beverly Hills Hilton. He's the most anal SOB I've ever seen. I always thought that my mother was a nut case until I met Lambert. Shit! He makes her look like a scrounge."
"I know, I volunteered to go to the motor pool to get away from him."
Staring through the windshield of the over-sized pickup, Brad felt disoriented as Perkins swung the big pickup south from Kadena AFB's main road and into the thick, fast moving traffic of Okinawa Highway #1. In that instant it all hit him. The strange smells of open benjo ditches, mud clogged tidal flats, sandy coral flats at low tide and fish frying on open charcoal braziers all made Brad realize that when he stepped out of the DC8 this morning he had entered a different world. A world with a language and rules like none he had ever known. And a world that sent thousands of questions, all of which needed an answer, gushing chaotically through his head.
He knew his life would never be the same again. And while he took in the heady aromas, listened to the new sounds and let his eyes feast on this cornucopia of magnificent visions, Brad knew he didn’t want his life to be the same. He had come to Okinawa because he wanted his life to change, and he intended to enjoy these changes as he experienced them.
An Okinawan Affair Page 2