by Daniel Wyatt
“General Cameron?”
“Yes, captain.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re telling us that whoever’s in control of this exact replica of the Mary Jane is flying the exact flight path used during an actual World War Two B-29 bombing mission.”
“Yes, that’s what I’m telling you.”
“And you don’t know anything? How or why this is happening?”
“I do not. This is no publicity stunt on our part, I can assure you of that. We had enough trouble getting Fifi airworthy and off the ground.”
“Stunt or no stunt,” Les interrupted, “the tail gunner took a shot at Tiger’s fighter and he’s got the bullet hole to prove it. Fifty caliber.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s right, general,” Tiger said.
“I’d keep an eye on this thing,” Cameron said to the CO.
“We plan to.”
“Good. These guys could be some wacky joy riders, or something.”
MacDonald took the file from Cameron and said, “I have USS Midway available to me. I know the CO from the States. His ship has been training new F-18 pilots on carrier landings and he’s going to be out in the area for a while. Tiger and Hulk, here, used the carrier as their base to take these pictures. It’s not over. They will be on alert. We won’t involve anyone else, at least for the time being. In the meantime, general, I would appreciate if you and your friend, Mr. Shilling, would stick around for a while and not leave town.”
Cameron and Robert glanced at each other.
Cameron shrugged.
“Sure,” Robert said. “We’re retired. Nothing else to do.”
* * * *
Outside the captain’s office, Robert cornered Cameron.
“That was clever, Phil. I hope the captain doesn’t check into the Mary Jane’s real mission. That was quick thinking on your part.”
“Was it? I hope I was convincing enough.”
“You were.” Robert put his hands on his hips. “What’s your take on all this?”
The general folded his arms. “I think someone is playing a cruel joke on the 509th. I know I’ve made a few enemies over the years.”
“Who’d want to embarrass us? And who the hell would take the trouble of reconditioning a B-29 to do it?”
“I wish I knew, Bob. Nothing makes sense, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
They looked to Les down the hall on a wall telephone. They could hear him talking to his wife.
“So, your son’s going to put us up for awhile, is he? That’s pretty decent of him. But does he have the room?”
“No problem,” Robert confirmed. “Look, let’s go have a stiff one somewhere and sort this thing out.”
“I’m with you.” Cameron smirked. “It might take a few of them.”
“Yeah, for me, too.”
Chapter seven
KYOTO
The mid-afternoon waters of Lake Biwa were a sparkling calm. One foot on his forty-foot cabin cruiser, the other on the dock, David Shilling helped his smiling Japanese girlfriend aboard.
“Toshika, I’m glad you made it.”
“Thanks for asking me.”
He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Yuh hungry?”
“I’m starved. Nice day, isn’t it?”
“You bet.”
David escorted her to the ship’s stern. On a built-in shelf were small trays of food that held rice, pickles, fish, eggs, cheese, and sliced meat. The two sat at a table and ate, enjoying the warm sunshine. This past week had been a little warmer than usual, and the forecast for today was temps in the low eighties. That in mind, both were dressed lightly in shorts, T-shirts and running shoes.
Toshika was a slim, pretty woman in her middle twenties who spoke English fluently. A local history teacher, she was good-natured most of the time, sometimes bold and high-spirited, with a quick sense of humor. Her hair was midnight black, smooth, straight, and long, her unblemished skin a golden hue from the sun. David had met her two months ago when he was in the fashion shop she owned in downtown Kyoto, where he had been looking for a traditional Japanese dress for his mother. He had asked Toshika, who had broken off a previous engagement only that week, out for dinner that evening. They’d been seeing each other steadily ever since.
“My compliments to your chef, David. This is excellent.”
They continued eating until a Japanese man dressed in a dark suit appeared from below deck. “Sir, is everything to your satisfaction?”
“Yes, it is. I’d like more tea.”
“Certainly, sir.” The waiter poured into David’s cup.
Ten minutes later the table was cleared and the man, with the aid of another similarly-dressed man, cleaned up the food and trays and left the boat, leaving Toshika and David alone.
“Now, let’s go.”
“Yeah,” replied Toshika, taking off her outer garments to show off her new bright-red, one-piece swimsuit. “What do you think?” She turned around for him.
She was stunning. David was impressed. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
In minutes, he started the boat’s motor from inside the cabin and pulled away from the dock into the open water. Soon, he too stripped down to his swimwear, a pair of dark-green trunks. He kept the boat within a mile of the shoreline, moving slowly along, with Otsu City on his left. A few other boats were on the water.
“Check the fridge out,” he said, nodding at the fridge in the corner, his hand on the wheel.
Toshika found a bottle of champagne inside. David urged her to open it, and she did. The loud “poof” startled her and the two laughed when some of the liquid sprayed the windshield and David.
“I didn’t think opening champagne could be so much fun,” she said.
“The glasses are in the cupboard, up above.”
They clinked glasses and drank, standing side by side. Toshika finished her drink first and left to go topside to tan. After thirty minutes, David cut the motor a half-mile offshore and went up to see Toshika on deck, sleeping on her stomach. The closest boat was more than a mile away. He quietly dropped to his knees, picked up the suntan lotion beside her, and started to pour it on her bare spine between her swimsuit straps. She didn’t wake until he rubbed the lotion into her skin.
“Hey,” she murmured, coming to. She turned on her side, facing David. “We stopped.”
“Yeah. Nothing to hit out here. I’ll just let it drift. Thought I’d come topside and enjoy the scenery. You and the lake.”
She chuckled. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I was hoping it would.”
She glanced around at the water. “Nice, eh?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you know Lake Biwa has special significance for many American airmen?”
“Really? What kind of significance?”
“For a short time during the war, B-29 bomber pilots used it as a rendezvous point for attacking nearby cities. They would stream in over the coast near Osaka, fly on and circle over the lake, then head for their particular target.”
“I didn’t know that.” David was genuinely surprised and interested at the same time. “You learn something new every day.”
“A person should never stop learning.”
“Spoken like a true teacher. You’re not like a lot of Japanese people. You find it easier to talk about the war.”
“Maybe because my relatives were from Kyoto, one of the few cities unscathed by the B-29s. We were lucky that way. If I had come from Hiroshima or Nagasaki, I might not be so willing because the memories would be so close. Actually, when it comes right down to it, if my relatives had come from Hiroshima or Nagasaki, I probably wouldn’t be alive today.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Your father was in the war, wasn’t he? Didn’t you say he was a mechanic in the Mariana Islands?”
David hesitated. “Yeah, he was.”
“Fighters? Bombers?”
He hesita
ted again. “Bombers.”
“B-29s?”
“Good guess. Not only that, but he was part of the 509th Composite, the bomber group on Tinian that dropped the atomic bombs.”
Toshika sat up. “Talk about learning something new every day. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
He shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”
“You were hiding it from me. Did you think I’d be angry with you?”
“I don’t know.”
“The war’s been over for forty-five years. Neither of us were even involved. Besides, a man who used to fly B-29s — or he had some connection with them — is a very good friend of the family.” She thought for a moment. “We always address him as colonel. He doesn’t talk too much about the war.”
“Neither does my father. But he still carries it around with him.” He grunted and frowned. “What a guy. Geez, he doesn’t like Japanese. Nor their cars. I hope that when he and my mother come to visit he’ll change his mind once he meets you and my other friends.”
“I see. So we’re... well... goodwill ambassadors are we for Papa Shilling?”
“Not really. But it’ll help. Another thing, if my mother sees me with you, she might think we’re very serious about each other and she won’t bug me about getting hitched... ah, married. Like she always does.”
Toshika stood up, David with her.
“Are we serious, David?” She placed her arms around his neck. Before he could answer, she kissed him. “You’re not trying to get me drunk, are you?” she asked, her eyes glassy.
“No.”
“Are you going to take advantage of me?”
“Of course not. But you do look fantastic today.”
“Thank you.”
Hand in hand, they strolled to the topside rail, stopped, and looked over the water.
“David?” she said, her eyes to the water.
“Yes?”
“Do you want to know why I broke off the last relationship?”
He shrugged, gently. “If you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”
“All he wanted to do was go to bed with me. I couldn’t do it. He was just too possessive. Not only that, but I made a vow to my father that I would stay pure until my wedding day. I’m a twenty-five-year-old virgin. In this day and age, you probably think that’s funny.”
David answered quickly. “Not at all. I think that’s very honorable and proper.”
“You do?” She turned to him.
“Yep. The man who marries you will be a lucky man. You must love your father very much to make such an important vow.”
“I do love him. What about you? Do you love your father?”
David took a long time to answer the biting question. “He’s a difficult man. We haven’t got along since I moved to Japan. I still don’t know about this visit. I wish my mother would come alone. She’s a lot more fun and... more accepting of others, regardless of, well, you know.”
She nodded. “I know. Race, creed, religion, and whatever.”
“Exactly.” He took her in his arms. “Look, can we talk about something else?”
Chapter eight
PACIFIC OCEAN
The B-29 commander knew that darkness would surround the bomber for another two hours. They were approaching the half-way point of their mission.
He swung his attention to the transmitter control box on the fuselage to his left. He turned the transpower switch to ON and set the frequency selector switch to the desired low-frequency band. Then he set the TONE-CW-VOICE switch to TONE. All was in order to transmit an important message to Iwo Jima. He pushed the throat mike to his Adam’s apple with his left hand and with his right thumb pressed the PUSH-TO-TALK switch on the control wheel.
“HAWKEYE THREE-SIX TO BAKER TWO. FAT BABY GETTING SPANKED,” he said in a slow voice. The commander didn’t bother to wait for a reply. Due to previous orders, he knew that no one would answer. The receiving station’s instructions were only to absorb the message.
The commander nodded at the flight engineer, who left his chair and went into the next compartment. The engineer winked at the radio operator on his left. He stopped by the edge of the hatchway that led to the bomb bay. There he was met by an individual in glasses and flight gear, coming through the tunnel above him. His nickname was “Four Eyes.” The two opened the hatch towards them and crawled in. Now they were inside the dark and wind-whistling bomb bay, their backs to the open hatch. Attached to the top of the bomb rack was a long, six-ton, cylinder-shaped metal object. With the help of a strong flashlight, the man in glasses read silently from a piece of paper:
Checklist for loading charge in plane with special breech plug (after all 0-3 tests were complete)
1. Check that green plugs were installed.
2. Remove rear plate.
3. Remove armor plate.
4. Insert breech wrench in breech plug.
5. Unscrew breech plug, place on rubber pad.
6. Insert charge, 4 sections, red ends to breech.
7. Insert breech plug and tighten home.
8. Connect firing line.
9. Install armor plate.
10. Install rear plate.
11. Remove and secure catwalk and tools.
Four Eyes took some tools from the metal box left inside the bay and with the flight engineer as his assistant, went to work on the object. After a few minutes, the engineer stuck a hand through the hatch and held up three fingers for the radio operator to see, who in turn pressed his intercom.
“NUMBER THREE COMPLETE, COMMANDER.”
“ROGER.”
The commander’s thumb went to the PUSH-TO-TALK switch. “HAWKEYE THREE-SIX TO BAKER TWO. NUMBER THREE COMPLETE.”
By the time Four Eyes reached the point of injecting the gunpowder and charge, he wiped his brow and took a deep breath to calm himself.
“Steady, boy,” the flight engineer encouraged him as he handed the perspiring man the proper wrench.
Four Eyes followed step Number Six carefully. Finally, he inserted the gunpowder into the four sections, connected the firing line, and with exactly sixteen turns tightened the breech plate.
The flight engineer stuck a clenched fist through the hatch.
“NUMBER EIGHT DOWN, COMMANDER,” the radio operator said.
* * * *
“Here we go again,” Les Shilling said to himself. Punching through the F-18’s radio frequencies, he tried to contact the B-29, only 2,000 yards astern to the bomber at two o’clock high.
“ZULU TWO-FOUR-THREE TO TWO-NINE-SIX-FIVE-FOUR-SIX. DO YOU READ?”
Les had no choice but to try contacting the B-29 by using its six-digit original factory numbers as seen and documented from the photos. After some minutes, he heard what was probably the bomber trying to make contact on a low-frequency band with another party, which wasn’t answering.
He would wait... and listen in.
* * * *
Working quickly now, Four Eyes tightened the armor and rear plates.
“THAT’S IT, COMMANDER.”
“HAWKEYE THREE-SIX TO BAKER TWO. FAT BABY WIRED FOR SOUND.”
The flight engineer patted Four Eyes on the back. Wiping his brow with a handkerchief, Four Eyes looked relieved the job was over. All that was left — later — was to exchange the green plugs for red ones.
* * * *
Les had something to go on now. “ZULU TWO-FOUR-THREE TO HAWKEYE THREE-SIX. DO YOU READ?”
An answer came quickly. “ZULU TWO-FOUR-THREE. THIS IS HAWKEYE THREE-SIX. WHO ARE YOU? OVER.”
“I WAS GOING TO ASK YOU THE SAME QUESTION. WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE IN THAT OLD CRATE? OVER.”
* * * *
The commander glanced across at his pilot. “What’s with this joker? What kind of callsign is Zulu with three numbers?”
“Zulu!” the pilot said.
“Yeah. Doesn’t he know the Able-Baker alphabet?”
“Guess not. How dare he call our airplane a crate.”
“Yeah.
Yuh see anything?” the commander asked.
The two pilots strained into the night sky through the Plexiglas to either side.
Nothing.
“COMMANDER TO TAIL GUNNER. DO YOU SEE SOMEONE FOLLOWING US?”
“YES, SIR. THERE’S SOMETHING OUT THERE. A FIGHTER, I THINK. HE’S STAYING BACK AT 2,000 YARDS.”
“NO ID?”
“NO, SIR. TOO FAR AND TOO DARK.”
The commander took a breath and pressed the R/T. “CRATE, HUH? WHAT DO YOU WANT, LITTLE FRIEND? IF YOU ARE A FRIEND.”
“I’VE CAUGHT UP TO YOU. NOW TURN AROUND AND LAND IT.”
The two pilots exchanged bewildered glances.
“Caught up to us? What’s with him?” the commander wanted to know.
The pilot shrugged. “Maybe it means an abort.”
“An abort?”
“We’re out of radio range. Maybe something’s gone wrong. He does sound American.”
“I REPEAT. TURN HER AROUND. IF YOU DON’T I’LL BE FORCED TO TAKE ACTION.”
“ARE YOU AMERICAN?” the commander answered.
“AFFIRMATIVE. WHY?”
“HOW MANY HOME RUNS DID BABE RUTH HIT IN 1927?”
* * * *
Les couldn’t believe his ears. These guys were really playing the game to the hilt. Little Friend was an American World War Two term for a friendly fighter. Big Friend for a friendly bomber. And asking how many home runs Babe Ruth hit in 1927 meant that these guys were trying to find out if he was an American or not.
Les shrugged. Sure, he’d go along with them. “THE BABE HIT SIXTY THAT YEAR, BIG FRIEND.”
“LET’S HAVE A LOOK AT YUH, LITTLE FRIEND. COME UP ON PORT.”
“LAST TIME WE DID, YOUR TAIL GUNNER TOOK A SHOT AT MY WINGMAN.”
“THAT WAS YOU, WAS IT? COME ON UP. WE WON’T BITE.”
Shilling pushed the throttle forward and eased through the night sky. In seconds, the B-29 grew larger through the canopy. Twenty-five yards off and above the B-29’s long port wing, he throttled back.