Polar Bear Blues: A Memoir Of The Endless War (The Endless War. Book 1)

by Steve Wishnevsky

  “That gross fat pig was a hero?”

  “He shot down thirty-one Allied fighter planes in single combat. He commanded Jagdgeschwader 1, the primary fighter corps of the war. An arrogant bastard even then. He porked up after being wounded in the groin in the ’23 Beerhall Pusht. The rumor is that he was gelded.”

  “That would explain a lot.”

  “And if the American General Staff had a notion that there was going to be a chance of a tank and aircraft battle in Eurasia, that would explain those planes in the hold.”

  “Excuse me? Planes? Hold?”

  “The aft hold is full of Curtiss Pursuit airplanes. And I don’t think that Hodges was expecting any such a thing.”

  “Airplanes. Indeed. I will have to tell Amelia. She is quite the aviatrix, you know. Or she was before we all ran afoul of the Investigation Bureau.”

  “Is that what happened to you?”

  “We Suffragettes might have gotten a little too vocal in our opposition to the war.”

  “Indeed?”

  “We almost had the Vote, you know, in ’19. Most states not in the South had given us the Vote, but as the war dragged on and on, as the country became more and more regimented, our chance of equality slipped away. It was obvious to many of us that the war was the root cause of our defeat, not to mention the horrible toll that war has taken, so…”

  “You spoke up, and Patton clamped down.”

  “They passed a law banning ‘Unnatural Relations’ on the Federal level, then used that as a club to beat down dissent. And here we are.”

  “I know about the law, of course, but had no idea it was used for that. They sold it as a measure to keep evil perverts from our noble soldiers. As if that was never going to happen. I had some idea it was just part of the general Puritan landscape. Patton and John Hoover are prudes, at least in public.”

  “Well, you could ask Patton’s poor wife about that. But that’s all by the by. God, I wish I could sleep. Everything you have told me just increases my agitation.”

  “Would you like a drink? I have something that resembles vodka.”

  “Think not to ply me with alcohol, Mr. Kapusta.”

  “That is Lieutenant Kapusta. And I have two bottles. Take one and share it. I could care less. I drink too much anyway. And I need to fall out. It is going to be a very long day tomorrow.” I went back in my office, unlocked the desk, took out the wounded soldier, and gave it to her. “Take it or leave it. Good night.”

  “You do not keep one of those prostitutes to service you, Lieutenant?”

  “That is rather a personal question, don’t you think, Miss Justine? Good night.” I left her standing there, wrapped in a dirty blanket, barefoot, but she did not give me the bottle back. I notice little details like that.

  It took more than a few pulls on my full bottle to settle my mind enough for sleep. And what sleep I did get was not easy. Tanks and airplanes? A new frontier of warfare in the oldest land on earth? And I was smack dab in the middle of it all? It sucks to be me. But what choice do I have? All the other people are taken.

  >>>>>

  Morning came too soon, climbing those nets had strained muscles I had not used forever, if then. Agility is not my strongest point. I was creaking around, when Jimmy Bolton made it back with a couple loads of rations, worn-out uniforms, and a couple of footlockers of very assorted firearms. He also had Ray Reynolds with him, and a set of new instructions for me. Reynolds actually saluted, handed me a sheaf of paperwork, and told me, “The General sends his complements, requests that you get the new arrivals settled and set to salvaging a couple of buildings. There are more on the way, a lot more of them are these so-called unnaturals.”

  “Really? And he cares about them?”

  Reynolds closed my office door, spoke quietly. “The General’s younger sister, Iris, is a maiden librarian in Petersburg, Virginia.”

  “I see. A wink is as good as a nod.”

  “To a blind horse. The main priority is the airplanes. It seems that the first ship, with more planes and the Command Staff has vanished, and must be assumed lost at sea. General Billy Mitchell, the putative commander of US Army Air Service East, has been lost with that ship.”

  “And Goering is headed our way with a blue fucking million Fokker pursuit jobs.”

  “Not to mention Gotha bombers and a few hundred zeppelins.”

  “All for little old us? I am honored.”

  “The General says, in confidence, that he appreciated your candor, and that while he is not sure if our civilian leaders plan to use us an experiment in tactics or else as a disposal service for unwanted citizens, he is, and I quote, ‘disinclined to play any such games’.”

  “I see.” I said, although I didn’t. “The gloves are coming off. How can we survive?”

  “We can only do our best. House the women and the new men, separately…”

  “Of course.”

  “Sort out the men by work experience, and send him any men with aeronautical experience whatsoever.”

  “How about women? I am told I have at least one aviatrix. A pilot.”

  That snapped his head around. “Of course. Pilots are primary.”

  “Ray… Lieutenant Reynolds… In all confidence, I think I need to invent new words to describe how fucked we are.”

  “You need to talk to some of the Whites. We can’t give up. The Germans won’t let us. They want to conquer the world, and we are just vermin.”

  “Dust beneath their chariot wheels.”

  “Exactly. As long as we continue to receive supplies from the States, we fight.”

  “And if they cut us off?”

  “We fight harder.”

  “Okay. I can do that. Lost causes are my specialty. Let me get these people under roof, and fed, and I will try to report back to you by noon, with a roster of skills.”

  “Excellent. We count on you, Captain Kapusta.”

  “Lieutenant.”

  “Captain. Me too. We are just out of insignia. I have a man looking in town for silversmith that can cast us some new bars.”

  “Whew. Acceleration.”

  “You have seen nothing yet. Noon.”

  “My best shot.” And off he went in his staff car. I had a cup of tea, then called Red and Ruby, had them line their people up and start getting me a roster of names and civilian occupations. Sure.

  Red’s men were all dressed, more or less, so as the women filled out their sheets, got their rations, a horrible concoction of powdered eggs and rice and onions, I broke open the bundles of worn-out uniforms and started sorting the shoes and boots by size. It was all guesswork, all the labels inside were illegible. I had a ruler in my desk, but it was metric, or some arcane Imperial Russian measurement system. Screw it. Big ones here, little ones there.

  After the women choked down the food, I had them file past the clothing bundles. I expected them to hold the clothes up to their bodies and sort them that way, but Ruby dropped her blanket without a side-glance and started trying on trousers. She found a pair that might stay up, then went through the shirts and undershirts, until she was covered. She stole a length of the cloth tape that had bound up the bundles for a belt, then started trying on shoes. Some of the other women looked like they might want to be shy, but no one dared to break the line. And yes, some of the women were males. I didn’t say a word. If they were happy, I was happy.

  If the simple act of wearing clothes made everybody a lot happier, then receiving fire arms made them damn near ecstatic. Some even smiled. These were all crap guns, belly pistols, whore holdout derringers, cheap silver automatics, but no matter. They were all armed and dangerous. “Everybody got shoes?” Most people nodded, a few held up one foot like happy toddlers, an odd sight to be sure.

  “We have no socks?” Justine questioned.

  “We do not have far to go. Follow me. Don’t forget your blankets.” Some had tin cups in hand, those are a prisoner’s prize possession, of course. And none left their shivs or co
shes either. It was raining, as usual, but not hard. I led the way to that sewing factory I had investigated for compressors. It was back a couple blocks from the docks, even had a few windows left. Five stories, brick, typical brick factory, wood floors.

  “Here you go ladies, home sweet home. There is a lot of cloth, a shitload of sewing machines, if anybody knows how to sew, you can at least dress yourselves.”That little speech met with some glowers, but some of them looked around appraisingly. A few hands reached out to stroke dusty bolts of fabric. Just like women do, you know.

  “He’s right. Bedding at least. Maybe we can make a buck. Better than that goddamn ship.” Ruby admitted. “My mom learned me how to run a good seam. If I can do this…”

  “I didn’t inventory this building, Ruby, but it’s all yours. Do what you want. More women coming. Your bailiwick. Yes?”

  “Yeah, sure. Rations?”

  “Hodges will not let you starve. I’ll see if they can run a phone line out here. I need runners to carry messages until that happens. I don’t know what he has planned for you, but he rarely misses a trick. So…”

  “Make the best of it. Anything else?” She nodded, still thinking hard.

  “I need all the women with any aeronautical expertise to come back to the Shop before noon. Hodges has some plan for those airplanes on the ship.”

  A strong featured dark-blonde women stepped forward, her eyes sharp and active. “Planes? What planes?” She was too handsome to be called beautiful, but one woman in a million anyway. Thirty, maybe. A little more.

  “There are crates of Curtiss P-1s on board that ship. Didn’t Justine tell you?”

  “No. I fell out immediately.”

  “You are Amelia?”

  “Correct. What of it?”

  “She mentioned your name. You are in charge. You are a pilot?”

  “I have a few thousand hours. The P-1 is obsolete, but was a sweet ship in her day.”

  I had no time for comparative aeronautics. “You are in charge. Be back at the Shop at eleven.”

  “None of us have watches. They took everything we had when they processed us at the prison. Some of us were raped too. Stripped and raped. They took my grandmother’s ring.”

  I had nothing to say. I could not meet her blue, blue eyes. I just unstrapped my watch, handed it to her without a word. She took it, without thanks, strapped it to her wrist, then said, “Eleven o’clock.”

  I nodded and left. Work to be done.

  >>>>>>>

  The men were easy. Hodges had sent a truckload of old single shot rifles for them, rolling blocks, Russian made, pretty well worn out, but they probably worked. I knew he was not about to give un-vetted men modern rifles, just in case he might have to take them away again. These would be fine for defense. All that was needed. I shaped them up, marched them to the cannery, kissed them goodbye. On the walk home, I had a horrible thought. I had previously thought that Patton and Goering were the same sort of person. I knew from the constant laudatory articles in the US papers that Patton thought himself a reincarnation of JEB Stuart, a Knight on horseback, and it was common for people to call pursuit pilots, “Knights of the Air.” Just suppose those two romantically obsessed egomaniacs saw this coming was as a duel between Knights of the Realm? Ivanhoe and Galahad, or whoever? They got the glory and we got to be cannon fodder? My joke about dust and chariot wheels was getting less funny all the time. My stomach hurt, and that’s a lot of hurt.

  >>>>>>>

  When I got back to the Shop, Amelia, Justine and five more women were waiting for me. They looked a little better, to the extent that they had salvaged cloth from the factory to make head scarves and belts. Justine had managed to improvise a calf length skirt and a scarf around her neck out of a slate gray material, looked reasonably presentable. Being a bohemian writer type myself, I was not unfamiliar with the devotees of Lesbos. Justine was back in uniform. Fine with me. I am rather good at accepting things I cannot change. It’s the Russian in me. “Justine, are you aeronautically inclined?” I asked, and she almost blushed.

  “To the contrary. I came for two reasons. I had hoped to promote the use of one of your motor vehicles for our use. At the Sisterhood, you understand.”

  “No problem. And the second reason?”

  “I seek gainful employment. You mentioned typing. I seek to combine advantage for myself, employment, with advantage for the Sisterhood, liaison to the Army, and also to gain a position where one might keep abreast of the war effort. I have a roster of women that are willing to work on a clerical basis for your General Hodges. If that is not a sufficient number of reasons, I could also state that we have no desire to be shunted off to some backwater to molder in isolation.”

  “I understand and approve. Hired. I’ll see what I can do about getting you on the Army payroll, but I also have discretionary funds to spend on help and necessaries.”

  “We touch another nub. We have needs too. Sanitary supplies, to be blunt.”

  “Not a problem. “ I looked around, the Shop was beginning to get into production, some machines were cutting metal, I could hear Pomeroy smithing away in the back. Other machines were being set up, Jeems was splicing a belt on the biggest milling machine, Hoskins cleaning and adjusting a stack of calipers. “Fine. Let’s walk down to the DAT House, get a couple flivvers and go talk to Hodges. We are in danger of being late, which is not all that good an idea, with the General.”

  “Is he a martinet?”

  “Not at all, but he does expect people to follow orders and to keep their word. I would not like to irritate him. It might be painful. They tell me he never curses, but he can take hide off with just a few quiet words. And I don’t want to find out how he does it, either. Let’s go.”

  >>>>>>

  We took three flivvers, one for me, one for the Shop, and one for the Sisterhood. Justine could drive, quite well as a matter of fact. What you could expect from a rich girl. Swarthmore? My lower-class ass.

  HQ was a flurry of paperwork, messages flying in and out, telegraphs and short waves singing their songs full blast. Phone were answered on the first ring, orderlies not quite running from station to station. We waited just long enough to finish a cup of real coffee, chomp down a couple of doughnuts each before Hodges himself came out to greet us. He looked Amelia over carefully, reserving judgment before he held out his hand. “Miss, I assume, Earhart. Welcome to the End of the Line. You are an experienced pilot?”

  “Yes, General. I started flying in 1920, and it has been my passion ever since.”

  “Where are you from, Miss Earhart?”

  “Atchison, Kansas, sir. I was the sixteenth woman pilot to be licensed by the FAI. I had my own ‘plane before I was twenty. An Airster.”

  “I am familiar with your name. You were the first woman to fly the Atlantic, were you not?”

  “More correct to say I was flown across the Atlantic. I was cargo, like a sack of potatoes. I did cross the US in ’28, on my own, I was more proud of that. But the powers that be have decided that women belong in the kitchen, and have hampered my career.”

  “I had aspirations to fly myself, but I washed out.” He tapped his left ear. “Too much artillery.” He smiled, sort of, “You were deported?”

  “I was accused of being too ‘mannish’. Perhaps I became frustrated and spoke my mind a bit too freely.”

  “We all have had similar problems. And these women are also pilots?”

  “Betty and Carol are, the other two have taken some training, have not their licenses yet.” She pointed them out.

  “And your last companion?” He nodded to Justine.

  “Can speak for herself. Justine Lowell. Graduate of Swarthmore. I have here a roster of women seeking clerical positions with your Headquarters.” She offered a couple of sheets of paper, neatly inscribed in clear cursive. Hodges took the papers, then handed them off to the nearest aide.

  “Thank you, Miss Lowell. As you see, we need the help. Are you the spokes…women for
the new draft of deportees?”

  “I might as well be. I will be working for Captain Kapusta as well. We want to make the best of this bad situation, have no desire to be shunted aside, or to be treated as mere females. We have all fought, one way or another, and are willing to continue to fight for our own benefit.”

  “Ahh. Suffragettes. I understand. Consider it done. There are more women on the way. I will not comment on the Government’s policy, but I will do my best to cope with that policy. What else do you need?” He looked avuncular for a moment there.

  “We need a telephone connection to the Sisterhood, our name for our new home. We need sanitary supplies, first aid, and rations, of course.”

  “I am a married man, Miss Lowell. I understand completely. What can you do for us in return?”

  “We are in possession of a sewing factory. Ruby Wilson is our head. There is no electrical power, but the machines are largely treadle powered. We can supply some clothing, as long as our supplies last, perhaps repair and tailor services. I shall prepare a full roster and inventory within twenty-four hours, if needed.”

  Hodges nodded, “That will be sufficient. Ray Reynolds can find somebody to liaison with you. You will need lanterns, electrical power, or at least lamp oil. Make a note, and get back with Ray. Food, clothing, shelter, and honest work. You are making better progress than I had hoped. Very well done. Thank you. Miss Earhart, if you and your people will follow me? You may remain with your…Sisterhood, or establish an Aero-camp, whatever you deem most effective. We have perhaps a month, perhaps less, to prepare for all-out war. General Bradley is a far-seeing man, and he foresees trouble. A word to the wise.”

  I saluted, and so did Amelia. Point taken. “Amelia, I will leave one of the flivvers. Consider it yours. Good luck.”

  “Careful preparation is better than luck, Captain, far better.”

  >>>>>>

  We left one of the flivvers at Sisterhood, then Justine and I went back to the Shop to get her acclimated to her new job. She was competent, if a bit prickly. I’ll take competent. Billy Ardmore was promoted to shop steward. I ran down the jobs list with him and Hoskins, Pomeroy had three of the grappling hooks ready, I loaded them in the back of the flivver, and putted off to see what Eppi was up to. Somehow he had gotten a couple of the lifeboats from the Haynes to his site, and was shuttling supplies and men from shore to his salvage site. That reminded me I had to check with what’s his name, Stearns, about my launch. That in turn reminded me that I had to talk to Master Wu about the pearl divers. No problem there. He was back in the still room, fussing with something, drinking tea as usual. I took an offered cup of that plum brandy and broached my quest.