So… I was kicked out about two weeks ago, and unfortunately, was not able to take my copies of Black Sheep. So, I'm trying, but I can't really watch the episodes anymore. I have thus far gotten the first season streamed, but it's not super reliable. It's working so far, but who knows? So bear with me!
"Don't forget to have them bring my mechanic, my dog, and my WASP!" Boyington called after General Moore, who was leaving Boyington's guest quarters on Espritos Marcos after rousing him.
Boyington had been summoned to Rear Command earlier that day, and had taken off in the dark earlier that night. After landing on Espritos, and land he did, despite the orders of the tower, MPs were there to escort him from the strip to his usual quarters on the island—the brig. It seems that the tower was thoroughly done with the Black Sheep and their leader's penchant for disobeying flight patterns.
He and several other commanders had been gathered to take part in a mission. A suicide mission, to be exact—one that the commanders themselves could not fly. And not being able to fly a suicide mission with his men had not sat well with Greg. After the meeting, he'd sat Moore down with a bottle of wine and proceeded to explain his own plan for the impossible mission. Moore had initially dismissed him, citing higher powers than he that wanted this mission to happen. But in the very early morning hours, Moore once more had come to Boyington, telling him that he'd decided on Boyington's plan and to get his ass to Seona, on the double.
Within the half hour, Boyington was headed to the ex-Japanese base, where Moore had arranged for his squadron to be delivered.
It had been a very hung over squadron that was hustled out of bed and into a B-25 early the next morning. Light was barely breaking when the plane landed, and everyone—man, woman, and dog—were woken, told to dress, and then herded onto the carrier plane.
"Wha—what's going on?" Bettie yawned, hearing the commotion outside, as ensigns went from tent to tent, rousing disheveled pilots from their cots.
"Beats me." mumbled Gutterman. In the semi-light of the dawn, she could see his outline as he dressed. She followed suit, pulling on the first thing she found—her worn-out flight suit.
She was struggling to find a tee shirt in the darkness with her head pounding, but finally she did, and pulled on her boots, just as the ensigns came to their tent.
"Mission. Get to the airstrip on the double." was all he said before moving on.
The sleepy Marines gathered in a group along the strip, squinting in the light of the approaching dawn. They all looked the way Bettie felt. She felt a paw digging at her pant leg and looked down to find Meatball. She reached down and picked up the dog as the group began to file onto the plane as one of the men who had come to get them checked names off the list. She was behind her brother in line, who stated, "Sergeant Hutchinson, John D." before climbing into the plane.
"WASP Hutchinson, Beatrice R." She mumbled, when it was her turn, "and Private Boyington, Meatball." She bounced Meatball in her arms. Somewhere, some clerk had made a mistake in the personnel roster for VMF-214, and now Meatball was listed as a member of the squadron, with a given rank, to boot. It had become the running joke of the squad, especially since the paper pushers actually expected Meatball to be accounted for.
The ensign looked up in surprise at her, then at the dog, but Bettie ignored his strange look and followed Hutch into the plane. She squeezed in next to Hutch, and held Meatball on her lap so he wouldn't get underfoot. Next to her, T.J. sat, and she felt her brother stiffen. She still didn't know what was wrong with the whole squadron, but she was beginning to get a better idea. She leaned her head on Hutch's shoulder and groaned,
"Wake me up when we get there, would ya?"
The Black Sheep were unceremoniously unloaded onto a paved strip. They emerged, blinking in the tropical sun, onto an unknown base. Surrounded by spit-polished Navy officers instantly had their guard up, but they soon saw Pappy.
"Hiya, meatheads!" He greeted them cheerfully, from beside a ramrod straight officer. "How was the trip?"
"Now, Pappy, what in the blazes is goin' on?" Asked Gutterman, stepping forward. "We got Moore's people comin' in before down and herding us on to a bomber, 'n then they fly us to a navy base?!"
"Yeah! Pulled us right outta the rack!" Boyle chimed in.
"Easy, gentlemen, easy. I'll explain what's going on in a bit. For right now, the Commander here is going to show you to your quarters. Commander?"
Commander Hightower, who had been eyeing the squadron with an expression of distaste, looked to Boyington. "Ah, yes. If you'll all follow me…" He trailed off, looking distressed at the idea of parading this ragtag bunch across the grounds of the camp.
Dutifully, the group of marines, one WASP, and one dog followed, but not without looking at Pappy for reassurance. They trusted him that everything would be all right, but they'd still rather that he'd had them flown to Tokyo than to a navy base.
They were lead into a spotless barrack, and they huddled together in the center aisle of the room as the Commander cleared his throat to address them.
"One each bunk is an itinerary for your stay here on Seona. It begins with mess in forty-five minutes, and ends with take off in three days." He gestured to the crisp white sheets of paper on each regulation-made bunk. The marines passed them around in wonder at the idea that they of all units would be expected to follow an itinerary. Hightower pointed to either end of the barracks. "There are showers the next building over, and we have fresh Marine uniforms in the PX, across the way. Please prepare for mess. We will expect you in forty-five minutes." He repeated.
Once Hightower was gone, a clamor rose from the group.
"Itineraries?! Are they serious?"
"Pappy, you can expect us to-"
"All right, all right! Quiet down." Pappy raised his hands for silence. "Now, while we're on Seona, we're under the Navy's command. Just for a few days. Can you guys handle that?"
Another clamor arose, and this time, even Meatball voiced his displeasure with a howl. Bettie shushed him, and Pappy quieted down the rest of the group.
"We're here for a mission. I just found out not even the commander of the base knows what we're doing, all right? This is top secret stuff, and we all gotta play nice for a few days 'til we can go home."
"Yeah, but why're we here?" Gutterman asked. He for one had no intention of obeying naval regulations.
"Because the planes are here." Pappy answered.
Gutterman pulled his hat down over his face and laughed in frustration, "What planes?"
With a mischievous smile, Pappy gestured them to follow him.
"Those are Kates, Pappy!" T.J. exclaimed, upon seeing what occupied the hangar that Pappy had taken the group to. Bettie and Hutch, who'd hung towards the back of the group exchanged a sarcastic eye roll.
"Very good, T.J.! Everyone hear that? These are Kates!" Pappy called, with the tone of a schoolteacher who'd finally gotten through to the dunce of the class.
As he lead them around, he explained exactly what was going to happen for the mission. He was interrupted by a small explosion and the hiss of extinguishers as the navy mechanics struggled to douse the engine of a Zero that had caught fire.
"They're navy mechanics! What do you expect?" scoffed Hutch. Boyington raised an eyebrow at the sergeant and suggested,
"Then why don't you show them how a marine does it? The faster we get those birds flying, the faster we can get outta here."
Hutch snapped a half-assed salute and sauntered over. Bettie began to follow him, handing Meatball's leash off to Anderson, but Pappy stopped her.
"Not you, Bettie. I need you to listen in. You're coming with."
Surprised, she rejoined the group to listen in. She'd figured she'd been brought along because a general call for the 214 had come, and since she'd been attached to the squad, they took her for no reason other than paperwork's sake.
Boyington began to explain the mission again, when a young naval officer pulled up in a jeep. "Now just which one of you is Major Boyington?" He asked, surveying the motley group. Immediately, the squadron pointed to the only member of their number that was in correct uniform, which happened to be Larry Casey.
Casey looked around confused, but then again, it wasn't his first time being pointed at for that same question. From his perch atop the wing of the Kate, Boyington raised his hand. "That's me."
"You and your men are expected at mess, Major." The officer explained. The expression on Boyington's face told the 214 that even he hadn't taken the schedule seriously.
"We're on our way." Boyington sighed after a short exchange with the officer. He was busy, and didn't want to fraternize with the navy hotshots anymore than he absolutely had to.
The marine pilots trooped into the Quonset hut that served as a mess hall after Pappy. Bettie trailed in at the end, still not quite sure where she was supposed to be. Pappy waved her in and to the seat next to him. The Black Sheep stood until she was seated, a formality that she was rarely afforded back on Vella. She guessed that they were trying to make a point, as none of the navy officers stood at her entry.
"Man, they don't stand when a lady enters? I fear that we are in uncivilized territory." Gutterman stage whispered to T.J.
Color rose above many of the starched white collars, but none of them made a move. Bettie sat gracefully in the chair that Boyington had pulled out for her—well, as gracefully as her stature and her self-consciousness allowed. Once she was seated, the marines too their own seats. She glanced at the head table, and cringed slightly under the glares of the two commanders. She was already out of place amongst the pilots at Vella La Cava, but here, she felt she stuck out even more. And it seemed that the commander of the base took her presence in his mess hall as a personal offense, just one more action from the Black Sheep to snub him.
There was an array of polished silver utensils at her place at the table and Bettie felt a moment of panic looking at them all. She'd never been anywhere aside from clubs and diners in her life, growing up poor hadn't exactly prepared her for life with officers. It turned out, she didn't need to know how to use them. Within moments, she and the rest of the marines had been thrown out of the mess hall. On her way out, she could hear the junior officers whispering about them, but especially her. It seemed, from what she could hear, her character was much in question.
"Pappy, I'm flying with my knees to my chin!" Bettie called over the radio as the assortment of Japanese planes leveled off at altitude. Corsairs were one of the biggest fighters out there, but they still were a tight fit for taller pilots. The Japanese pilots were shorter than the Americans on average, which left Bettie hopelessly cramped in her winged tin can of a Zero.
"Me too." Came the reply from Anderson, the only one in the outfit beside Hutch taller than her.
"Me three." T.J.'s voice crackled through her headset.
"Me four." Casey sounded quite resigned. He was convinced that he was going to die in that Val he was flying.
"I know, I know. I tried to form a squadron of short pilots, but wouldn't you know it—the tall ones were all that I found in the reject pile." Boyington teased, "Now, lets get the hang of these damn things before we try to shoot carrier landings."
The pilots wrestled their planes into formation, following Boyington's Kate. "Now guys, when we fly the mission, we're going to torpedo the Kubitsu. You have to be accurate, and not dump your payload in the ocean! Everyone remember how to do that?"
Affirmative answers crackled across the airwaves.
"Bettie, you just stay upstairs and take pictures. We'll mount a camera on your wing, and all you have to do is stay out of the way."
"Roger." Bettie acknowledged the instructions. Her hand dropped from the mic onto the stick once more. Her first combat mission, and all she had to shoot was pictures. The truth was, she couldn't be more relieved.
"What do you say we take a test run? Black Sheep, on me." Boyington's plane banked out of formation and towards the ground, followed by the rest. Bettie stayed where she was overhead, settling into a lazy bank to starboard to circle the spot where the Sheep were bombing. Much to her amusement, it was over the huddle of officers on the strip watching. They scattered like tiny ants under the approaching planes, probably worried that the crazy marines would auger right into the ground.
As the squadron came back up to her level, Boyington couldn't hide a laugh. "All right, meatheads. No more terrorizing the navy. They're on our side… I think."
They took a few more practice dives, before the major proposed that they shoot their landings and see if they can make it down.
"Hey Pappy, you mind if I set down first?" Bettie asked, looking over at the plane next to her. Boyington looked back at her.
"Why?"
"Because I've landed on a carrier in the past two months, and I wanna get on the ground before one of you boneheads foul the strip trying to show the squids down there something!"
"All right, ladies first. The rest of you, follow Bettie in."
The landing went easily, now that she was getting used to flying practically in a fetal position. The flight director on the ground guided her in. She landed a little lower than he'd gestured, just to steam him a little. Living with the misfits of the Corps had influenced her a bit. Besides, for all his threats of laying out the pilot who ignored him, was he really going to hit a girl?
She taxied to the hangar and watched from the cockpit as each bird set down. Gutterman, in his typical fashion, did the exact opposite of every direction. She figured she should probably beat the navy to him, if she wanted to keep her roommate in one piece.
"Hey Hutch!" She called to her brother, working nearby. "Grab a crowbar. You're going to need to pry my ass outta here!"
She struggled to get out of the seat with a little help from Hutch, who hooked his hands under her arms and pulled her straight up.
"Thanks," she said breathlessly as she climbed down. "I gotta go get Gutterman."
By the time Bettie reached Gutterman, there was a full-blown brawl happening, with all the Black Sheep involved. Bettie waded in carefully, ducking punches. One white capped officer, probably deceived by her height and flight helmet, threw a punch towards her face. She rocked back from the blow to her mouth, and snatched him up by his collar and his belt, before pitching him out of the fray. She grabbed another and sent him after the first, making her way through the crowd, until her own collar was grabbed. It was Pappy, who'd finally landed, dragging her backwards out of the mess.
"Get outta here, would you?!" He exclaimed as he released her, giving her a push away from the fight.
Commander Pritchett had come screaming up in a jeep and was now striding towards the fight, shouting that he wanted the pilots arrested. Boyington had ended the fight, like he always managed to, and now was pulling the commander away.
"Now we've had this out. I have a very unorthodox bunch of cutthroats on a very unorthodox mission…" He growled. Bettie could overhear him snarling that they weren't going to arrest "his boys" since they had a mission to fly, a very important mission.
She wiped the blood from her face with the back of her hand and spat. She was thankful that among the many things that Hutch had taught her growing up, one of them was how to handle herself in a fight. Casey handed her a handkerchief to staunch the blood flowing from her split lip and T.J. momentarily forgetting Hutch's warning about touching his sister, pounded on her back in riotous joy.
"Did you guys see that? She just waded right in'a the middle of it all like it was nothing!" He crowed. All around her, pilots were slapping her on the back and cheering. She guessed she'd finally earned her place in their band of misfits. Not that being a six-foot tall female pilot didn't already make her one.
"She's our little lamb, ain't she?" Bragg grinned, giving he a shove that sent her stumbling into T.J.
The men broke into the song that had become their anthem, "We are poor little lambs, who have lost our way…"
Boyington stopped the joyful group as soon as they had bailed out of the jeeps that had shuttled them back to base.
"Now if that ever happens again, if any of you take a swing on a naval officer, you'll do three rounds with me… or less. Tomorrow we're gonna shoot more landings. None of you meatheads have ever shot carrier landings in a Kate, so it figures you've got nothing but time to start fights with naval pilots. We've got to get serious about this thing, or we're all gonna get nailed into boxes." Boyington scolded them all as they quieted down. "Now after this operation's briefings, what I want is for you to go into the barracks and study the flight characteristics of Kates. We're gonna fly some practice this afternoon. Now let's get goin'."
They began to disperse towards the tent and Bettie hunkered down, trying to blend with the rest of the group, but she felt a tug on her braid. She stopped and slowly and guiltily looked at her CO, who was holding the end of her hair. "And you," He frowned at her sternly, "Good job. But leave it to the meatheads to get hit." He grinned at her and she returned the smile, until her lip cracked and she started bleeding again. She quickly pressed Casey's blood-soaked handkerchief to her mouth, before trotting after the rest of her squadron.
Rather than reading the manuals on the Kates that she was supposed to, Bettie headed off to the hangars to a get a little hands-on experience with them. She found that she flew better in flight school once she actually learned how her plane was designed. She found Hutch standing in front of one of the Zeros watching a naval mechanic start it. He had his hands up as if he was pleading with it to start, cringing along with the sputtering engine. As she drew closer, she could hear him muttering,
"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon!"
When it finally caught, he tossed his had in the air with a whoop. She lightly punched his shoulder when she got within reach. "Got another one up!" She grinned at him, momentarily forgetting her puffy, split lip. It started bleeding again and she swore, fishing for the handkerchief once more.
"Oh, Stretch. You didn't go get involved with that fight, did you?" Hutch sighed.
Bettie just grinned a little wider, behind the handkerchief. "Who, me? Anyways," She said after a pause, "How is it going?"
Hutch shook his head and began to walk away. "You wouldn't believe these things! They're horrible. The wiring on them…" He looked at her helplessly, "I've never seen anything like it! I don't think I'll get enough of them up in time."
Bettie patted his shoulder reassuringly. Her brother was a brilliant mechanic, and if he was given enough time, he could solve any problem you could have with a plane. She had faith that he could do it. He just may need help with the simpler tasks so he had the time to handle the bigger stuff.
"Oh. Pappy told me he wants you to take a Zeke up. He gave me a camera to attach. Mind doing it yourself?"
"Sure." Bettie began to smile again, but she stopped herself when her lip pulled. "Let's go get it, and I'll take care of it."
Hutch led her into the hangar, and found the camera and brackets right where he'd left them. "Here you go. Lemme know if you have any questions."
She took the gear and a few tools that he gave her along with it, and found the Zeke she'd flown earlier. Some pilots were superstitious about always flying the same plane. While Bettie was not one of them, she still had liked the way the little plane had flown, so she might as well claim it for the mission. She crawled underneath the plane, and set to work mounting the camera.
While she was at it, she pulled panels off the craft where she could and looked around the inside. Hutch was right. The planes were a mess. The wiring harnesses running through the frame were tangled and overly complex. She wondered if they even needed all those wires.
The next plane over, she hear Pappy's voice, and peeked out from under her plane to see Boyington and a general talking to him.
"I dunno, sir. By morning. I got four Kates that can fly, maybe as many Vals, and a couple of Zekes." Hutch explained, one arm wrapped around the propeller of the Kate he was working on.
"Well are they all rigged for torpedoes?" The general question, hands on his hips.
"… More or less, sir." Hutch answered, "Bu-"
"More or less?!" The general shouted.
"We're doing the best we can, Greg—I-I mean, sir." Hutch corrected himself quickly, "But the wiring on these birds looks like something cooked up by Chef Boyardee!"
Hutch gestured with his wrench as he got more and more adamant. This one time, he thought Pappy had gotten him in over his head for sure!
"And the hydraulic systems are not to be believed. I mean, they're really strange, Greg. Sir!" Hutch's voice rose in distress as he corrected himself. Ordinarily it wouldn't be a problem, but with the general there…
"But we're doing it as fast as we can. I swear." He lowered his voice and hands, trying to placate the two officers.
"Thanks, Hutch." Boyington sighed, before turning to follow General Moore. Moore was heading in Bettie's direction.
He spotted her lurking behind her Zeke, wrench in hand as she changed the oil in the plane. She knew she looked a sight, blood on her chin and dirt and grease streaking her face and forearms, but she'd hoped that he wouldn't notice her.
"Boyington, what is she doing here?" Moore moaned. He knew it was a mistake letting Boyington talk him into attaching a WASP to the Black Sheep.
"You sent for the whole squadron. You got the whole squadron." Pappy shrugged. "She's one of my pilots."
"Let me guess, that ugly mutt of yours is around here, too?" the general sighed. It was just like Boyington to bring his whole gypsy camp to parade around the naval base. At the mention of him, Meatball trotted out from his shady hiding place and nosed General Moore's hand with a wag of his stumpy tail.
"She's just helping out, right?" Moore hoped he could overlook this. As long as that-that girl stayed on the ground at Seona, he could probably make it through this without his higher ups coming down on him for allowing a civilian to fly combat.
"Yeah, helping us out with pictures." Boyington grinned.
"Not a word, Boyington, not a word. If anyone hears you took a mere girl on a combat mission…" The expression on Moore's face told Boyington he didn't want to find out what would happen.
"I won't peach about it if you don't." Boyington said with a mischievous smile. He knew Moore had his back. Moore grunted at him and waved a hand.
"Remember, you fly at oh-eight-hundred. If those planes aren't ready, you do it in the Corsairs." He repeated as he climbed into the staff car. "Good luck, Boyington."
"The Black Sheep can do anything!" Boyington laughed.
"Yeah, except salute." Moore grumbled. The staff car roared away, and Boyington went to go see if he could do anything to speed up Hutch.