Poor Little Lamb
Hiya. Okay, before we even start, I'd like to say one thing. As this is a fanfiction, it will not be true to history. Especially since the show that it is based on is only loosely based on history, and since this is true to the show, it won't get near to being true to reality.
Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to anything except for my OC.
"Calling Vella La Cava. Come in La Cava. This is November one. Over." The pilot dropped her hand from her mic back to the stick. Static crackled and the reply rang out over the speaker.
"This is Black Sheep Ground, La Cava. What can I do for ya, November one?" The operator on the ground drawled.
"Got a new Corsair for you gentlemen, Ground. Can I get clearance to set her down?" The little blue plane jogged a bit in a patch of turbulence as it circled the dirt strip, waiting for permission to land.
"It's all yours, November. Go ahead and make the final turn on your approach and set 'er down. Black Sheep Ground, over n' out." Another crackle of static and the speaker went quiet.
The pilot steadied the stick and banked slightly, lining up with the end of the runway. The plane set down with a screech of its tires on the dubiously paved strip and taxied into the lineup of battered Corsairs. It let out a cough and a puff of smoke as the power was killed. On the ground, a lanky mechanic shrugged. The plane was in better shape than the rest. A little puff of smoke, he could live with.
The pilot climbed out of the cockpit and dropped to the ground, forgoing the toeholds that the other pilots used to scramble in and out. At nearly six feet tall, the pilot honestly looked like they didn't need to scramble up and down, that they could just reach up and pull themselves in.
Hutch, the squad's mechanic, loped across the strip from the maintenance shed. "You don't even know how glad I am to see that plane!" He grinned, shoving his wrench in his back pocket. "I got one I just grounded as parts."
The pilot pulled off her flight helmet and shook loose her braid. "Same old, silly Hutch. Always complaining!" She laughed happily, amused by the look of surprise on the mechanic's face. "What? No hug for your little sister? It was a long trip out here!"
Hutch pounced on her gleefully. "Stretch! I didn't know you finished your WASP training!" He let her go and held the equally lanky young woman at an arm's length. "I didn't know they had WASPs outside the States."
"They ain't supposed to. But there wasn't any one else, so I hopped my way out here, taking stuff from one island to the next." She grinned. "Gotta say Hutch, pretty nice little paradise you got out here."
"Yeah, 'cept the mosquitos, the malaria, the Japs and old Washing Machine Charlie." Hutch grumbled, his voice muffled by the paneling of the plane and he examined the engine of the fresh bird. "Oil change and she'll be ready." He announced, wiping his hands on a filthy rag as he emerged. "Better get on over to the commander's tent and let Pappy know you brought his new plane, Stretch."
She ducked her head and turned on her heel, heading towards the cluster of tents.
"T.J.. Tell me I'm seeing double." Lieutenant Boyle shook the shoulder of the blonde pilot next to him. "I am, aren't I, Bragg?" He looked to another pilot nearby.
They had been lounging on a pile of crates in the shade of the trees, watching the runway for the rumored new plane to arrive.
"I'll believe it when I see it." Captain Jim Gutterman had announced derisively when they'd gotten the news. And now, watching a somewhat newer, somewhat nicer Corsair taxi into the line, he found himself eating his words.
The pilots watched the joyful reunion with a great sense of bewilderment. Sure, they'd heard that female pilots were ferrying planes around Stateside for the military, but they never thought they'd see one on Vella La Cava. And they certainly never thought they'd see a woman that tall.
"Is it just me, or is there two Hutches?" Boyle repeated.
"Nah. It ain't just you, Boyle. There's two of 'im." Bragg agreed slowly.
As the female pilot sauntered off towards the camp, with Hutch's same loping gait, T.J. crooned, "Well isn't she just the cutest little thing you've ever seen?"
"Little?!" Boyle yelped in surprise.
"Cute?!" Gutterman mumbled. "I'd be more likely to kiss Hutch himself than her!"
"T.J., she's gotta be at least six feet tall!" Bragg protested. It was too late though.
"Aw, he's completely taken with her, guys. More nurses for the rest of us." Boyle sighed in mock resignation. They all knew that with the charming Lieutenant out of action, they'd have a better chance at the islands few inhabitants of the female persuasion. All the better for them, and if T.J. wanted to break his neck looking up at that beanpole of a girl, let 'im.
Bettie, or "Stretch" as she was affectionately called by her older brother, knocked on the support post of the CO's tent. The Major looked up at the sound and she brought her hand up in salute.
"WASP Pilot Hutchinson, sir. Your new Corsair arrived." She reported. WASPs weren't formally military, but she felt strange introducing herself as Miss Margo Hutchinson in a military setting. She desperately wished she had a rank to use. Even sergeant, like her brother, would have pleased her.
Boyington returned the salute in his usual lazy fashion. "Great to hear, Pilot." He grinned. Her cheeks colored slightly with pride that he addressed her as a pilot. "Your brother is about out of planes to keep us flying."
He turned back to his paperwork, but glanced up at Bettie as she shifted uncomfortably. Halfway around the world, she didn't expect to be delivering a plane to her brother's base, and she certainly didn't expect the men stationed there to already know that she was Hutch's sister.
"Don't look so surprised, Miss Hutchinson." The Major chuckled, "Hutch has been going on about his baby sister becoming a pilot since the day he got your letter. And to be quite honest, you two look quite a bit similar…" He trailed off, lost in thought.
"Anyways, I need to finish up this paperwork. Rare thing. Why don't you go find your brother or one of my pilots to get you settled until you can catch a ride back on the supply plane?" He offered. "I'm sure your orders will probably come in soon."
Bettie saluted once more and headed out back towards the strip, not a little disgruntled. All her life she'd been told she looked just like her brother. Unfortunately for her, she did. She always told herself she was a little homely, perhaps, with her strong nose. A little skinny. A little tall. But the boys would catch up to her. She had to face it around eleventh grade that frankly, at nearly six feet and still climbing, not too many boys would want to go with her. She ended up topping out at a couple inches shorter than her brother.
Upon reaching the strip, she ignored the pilots sprawled in the shade, and headed straight for Hutch, who was happily puttering with his new bird. Upon hearing her approach, he thrust an engine piece in her direction. "Hold this." He ordered, reaching further into the engine and wiggling something. Another small piece emerged from the engine and Hutch examined it for a brief moment, before tossing it over his shoulder and taking the larger piece back from Bettie.
He fitted it into place, as he explained. "The damn things always go bad out here. You don't need that part to fly, but if you're flying when it goes, you'll wish you didn't have one."
He clambered down from his perch atop a rickety ladder and wiped his hands on his trousers. "So when they sending you back?"
"When my orders come through," she shrugged, then grinned impishly. "If they come through."
Hutch shook his head. "You and Pappy will get along just fine." He sighed, folding his ladder. His sister always did have a way of arranging what she wanted, much like his CO. "I gotta finish up these repairs by tomorrow. Go bug some of those pain in the ass flyboys and make them do something useful." He jerked his head towards the pilots she'd passed. "Tell them to find you a tent for the mean time."
"Don't look! Here she comes!" There was a frantic scramble amongst the pilots to look occupied, and not like they were watching every move that the woman pilot made.
T.J. Wiley blushed furiously as he focused on cleaning his nails with a knife tip, and the others tried hard not to initiate eye contact with the towering woman.
"Gentlemen, I was hoping…" She began, hesitating at the lack of interest they showed her, before finding her voice. "I was hoping one of you could show me to a spare bunk until I can catch a ride out of here." She finished much more firmly.
Gutterman, Boyle, and Bragg ignored her, but Wiley couldn't help but look up. "S-sure. I'll take you." He stammered. He closed his pocket knife and stuck it in his pocket, before getting to his feet.
"I'll—I'll take your bag." He offered hurriedly, practically snatching the bag away from Bettie. She held her hands up in surrender.
"Sure. Sure." She mumbled in a bit of a surprised tone. She wasn't exactly used to having men carry things for her, much less take them from her. He hurried off towards camp, but she kept up easily.
"So, you're a WASP?!" T.J. asked excitedly, before catching himself, "I mean, that's pretty neat. That's a big accomplishment."
Bettie flushed a bit. It was nice to have someone recognize the work she'd put in. A lot of the military pilots she'd met through ferrying planes around just wanted to brag about their kills and their combat experience. Many of them hadn't been terribly impressive.
"Thank you." She said simply. She wasn't quite sure what to think about this strange pilot.
It suddenly occurred to T.J. that he'd been so excited that he'd forgotten to introduce himself, and find out her name. "Oh! Lieutenant Wiley, Miss. T.J.. Call me T.J.." He gave he a friendly grin.
"Bettie. Bettie Hutchinson." She offered her hand to Wiley, who shook it enthusiastically.
"Pleasure, Miss Hutchins—Hutchinson?! Like Hutch? Hutch Hutch?"
"Yes, like Hutch." She giggled "Why are you so surprised? Major Boyington said we're rather similar looking…" She grimaced.
"Yeah! You do!" T.J. agreed, holding aside the flap of the guest tent. "I mean… Like Hutch in a good way. Like family. Like a prettier Hutch." He stammered, before going quiet. "Here's your tent."
"Thank you, T.J.." Bettie said stiffly took her bag from his hand and stooped low as she stepped into the tent. As the flap fell into place she heard T.J. say,
"I-if you need anything, let me know!"
As the tent flap dropped into place between them, T.J. heard himself stammering after her.
Stupid! He scolded himself, Why would you tell her she looks like Hutch?!
He trudged back through camp to the strip, where the other pilots waited, grinning like wolves. He dragged slower and slower towards them, knowing they'd hassle him.
"Aw, she didn't invite you in, Wiley?" Gutterman gibed. The rest of the officers circled around behind T.J., giving him playful shoves.
"Hey, hey, hey! Gentlemen!" T.J. held up his hands, quieting them down, "All good things take time." He leaned against the crates, and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a proffered Zippo.
Underneath a thick layer of bravado, T.J. was still grimacing. He was used to being shot down—hell, between the Japs and the nurses it was a common enough occurrence—but he'd never shot himself down before! The other officers would never let him live it down if they found out.
He took a long drag, before blowing out a puff of smoke, "Y'know, that's the problem with you guys. Gals take some time to warm up, and a gentleman respects that." He nodded solemnly, after pronouncing his insight. The other pilots just jeered at his hypocrisy. T.J. could be quite the scoundrel, same as the rest of them. That's why they were all here, anyways. Scoundrels, pirates, oddballs, the lot of them.
The next morning found Bettie shoulder deep in an engine, tightening a bolt. She'd folded a nearly worn out flight suit down around her hips and wore a grease-stained, olive drab tee shirt on top. She sure as heck wasn't going to ruin what little clothes she had that fit her tall frame helping Hutch out with the Corsairs.
The flight suit had been a handmedown from a male instructor while she was in WASP training, since none of the female uniforms had fit her. The tan suit had been a Marine flight suit at one point, but she'd stripped off the old insignia patches and added her own. But now, with the cuffs fraying and the zipper sticking occasionally, she'd retired it to work clothes, and had been given an actual WASP suit since.
"Hutch!" She called down from where she knelt on top of the engine, her face squinched up in concentration. Her brother looked up from the next plane over, shading his eyes.
"What, Stretch?" He yawned. He'd been up all night working, and she'd padded out to the still lit airfield a little after 0330 hours, claiming she couldn't sleep anyways, so she might as well help.
"This hose is going." She explained, still feeling the length of the hose, trying to determine if it could be salvaged. She knew Hutch was low on parts, and they were trying to use what they could.
Hutch sighed tiredly. "They all are. The humidity and the heat rots them. Can it be taped?"
Bettie shook her head as she retracted her hand from the engine. "Nah. It's disintegrating.
Hutch swore and threw his wrench across the space between the birds. "Lemme see if I have another." He grumbled as he stalked away.
Bettie sat back on her heels and wiped her hands on what had once been a shirt, but was so torn and stained beyond recognition that it had been relegated to the rag pile in the mechanic's shed. She tucked the corner of it down the back of her rolled down flight suit and surveyed La Cava from her perch. No annoying pilots to ignore her or snub her, no activity, except for the Major's dog, which came trotting over.
She leaned forward with a grin and patted her hand as low as she could reach on the Corsair, making kiss noises at the pup. The dog, who's name she didn't know looked up at her, cocking its head curiously.
"Meatball! Get away from there!" A Texas drawl came ringing across the airfield. Meatball whined and hightailed it back to the camp, to Bettie's disappointment. I would have been nice to have a friend on the island, even if they had four legs. She pushed herself back up and glared at the approaching pilot. Cocky sonsabitches.
Jim Gutterman had gotten up early to talk to Hutch about his bird having an issue with power. He'd found Meatball out by the lineup, a place where the dog didn't belong. He wondered why the dog was out there and so interested in his plane. Gutterman shaded his eyes from the morning sun and saw a figure sitting on his engine. As he drew closer, he realized that the figure wasn't in fact Hutch, but the female pilot.
"Not gonna lie, darlin', having a woman wigglin' her ass in the air on my bird is a particular fantasy of mine," He drawled, "But what in God's name are you doin' up there?!"
The woman in question fixed him with a steely glare as she shook her braid over her shoulder. Hutch had appeared out of the mechanic's shed with a replacement, and she took it from him and reached down into the engine to swap the hoses before replying.
"Fixing your engine, Captain." She stated briskly, before pulling out the spent hose and tossing it at him. He fumbled trying to catch it. "Wouldn't want you falling right out of the sky now, would we?"
She wiped her hands again and slipped off the craft and onto the ladder, dropping lightly to the ground next to her brother.
"Man, I didn't know mechanics came in matched sets!" Gutterman grinned.
"Not that it's any of your business, but the Sergeant here is the mechanic, and I'm the pilot." She said stiffly.
Hutch groaned under his breath, "Gutterman…" Nothing could make his sister angrier than a man teasing her. He thought she was a bit up tight, but after watching her be tormented for her size for years, he couldn't blame her for shutting everyone down who dared to approach her.
Her eyes cut sideways to Hutch, "I'll be in my tent if you need more help." The terseness in her voice betrayed to him how uncomfortable she was, and he reached for her arm to stop her, but she was already striding away, her long legs covering the ground quickly.
"What can I do for you, Captain?" Hutch asked with a bit of a sigh, wiping his ever greasy hands on his ever greasier rag.