IV
Dear Mary and Sherry,
August 15, 1947
***WARNING, TYPE 4729-BRX: SENSITIVE MATERIAL CENSORED BY USAF***
To Mary:
I am having an incredible time here. Its been long and hard, as I've been having to be trained in a new type of mechanics. It has difficult to explain to you what I have been called in for, for many of reasons, some sensitive, some just difficult to explain period.....let us say that I have been called in to work "?f---(?(?&#\]ff§¢??????-?. I have had to absorb everything I've learned like a sponge, though I have little problem with it. It is different from before. The first test *h"?????????? ____"#???-- *h"??????Æ^???.
I've learned that you may be able to visit near the end of the time I have here. Though, its in the middle of nowhere, and very hot, so I'm not sure about whether you want Shelley in a swoon like that.
But no matter what, no matter if you visit or not, I still love you, and remember to kiss Shelley for me at night. Also, please, if you must tell her THE STORY, be careful not to mention anything bad I may have written to you before. I would prefer her not to know all of it, like I would tell her.
Also, check up on my dad; he sounded hoarser the last time I spoke to him on the phone.
Sherry: Are you being good for mommy and grandpa? Make sure you eat your food, and sleep with Bear Bear at night. I hear you are going to go to preschool in Westmoreland with Mrs. Cianfracco? Make lots of friends there and tell me how it turns out!
Love to all of you,
Your Hedgehog
(and to Shelley, your Daddy) XXOOLL
---------------------
August 29, 1947
The crowd at Fly Inn was louder than normal on the hot August night.
"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" Jack Ridley, the head USAF engineer, was on a table, a mug of cold brew in his hand. "To the third fastest man alive, Chuck Yeager! CHEERS!"
The entire bar - filled with USAF and Bell personnel - cheered and smacked their glasses together in a slight drunken stupor. Earlier that day, Chuck Yeager, junior pilot in comparison to most his rank, had achieved a speed of .85Mach on the first true test run of the XS-1. Everyone, even Colonel Boyd, had put on their better clothes and packed into Pancho Barnes' little run-down restaurant to celebrate.
"Ok, ok!!" Boyd laughed. "But remember, we've got to survive to one Mach without a hangover, right men?"
This had everyone whooping up a laughing storm in the dimly lit restaurant, clinking glasses again and reveling in a euphoric atmosphere; one not seen, it could be said, since the end of the war two years earlier. The beer and gin passed easily through the throats of the men, singing a raspy song of celebration on their accomplishments.
"Hey, Hedgehog!"
"Hedgehog?"
"Yeah. Scott Garnet. Hedgehog! Whoop! Ha ha!"
Bud Anderson, flanked by another man, laughed as he sat down at a small wooden table next to Scott. Scott, in turn, had sat alone, a shot of rum in his hands. He gave a nod to them as he sat.
"Chuck told me your nice porcupine nickname." He laughed. "Don't be alarmed, though. I'm a friend of Chuck's; he'll be here soon, he's getting his wife who's staying in Los Angeles for the duration."
"Wife?"
"Glennis. Damn fine woman." Bud turned to his associate. "Scott Garnet - call him Hedgehog - meet Captain John Redson. He's the go-to man for Bell and the USAF since 1945."
"Pleased to meet you." Scott shook Redson's hand.
"Yes, Bud." Redson smirked. "I've heard some stories of the beautiful wife of our legendary friend. But maybe you can regale us two ignoramuses on her beauty. As, Bud, you are, of course, the close friend of the Yeagers."
"Baah, bullcrap there!" Bud laughed. "Chuckie'd kill me if I had anything intimate with his wife! 'Sides which, I have my own wife that satisfies me just perfect, thank you!"
"I'll drink to that." Scott swigged his rum down.
"Bah, single men always lose out." Redson smirked. "Though I've seen a few wild cats in my lifetime that can whip the skirt off of any delicate lamb- like housewife with the right moves."
"Oh yeah," Scott couldn't help but smirk.
"Oh, yeah." Redson swigged another sip. "Like the Jap show girl prostitutes. They call 'em geishas, and they cater to the sorts of people like the emperor of the country. Not only can they make your privates burn for the price of a gallon of milk." Those who heard were roaring with laughter at this, ".but they can sing, dance and give you rice wine simultaneously while doing it! And they start out fully clothed, made up, all dolled up with all the trappings! Like tamed tigers, I tell you! They'll treat you like a king more, on less money, than any cat or lamb in this county!"
"Sounds nice," Scott murmured quietly.
"OOH HOHO HO HO!" Bud roared. "If you get that for the price of milk, I'm changing drinks right this instant!!"
This resulted in a loud ovation of laughter, and glasses clinked as the men gave a shout to the geishas of Japan.
"Heeey!" Suddenly, the voice of Jack Ridley silenced everyone. "Look who's coming!"
At that, Chuck Yeager entered, still wearing his pilot uniform and jacket, beaming from ear to ear. Crooked onto his left arm was the bare, ivory arm of a shapely young woman, who wore an orange cotton short-sleeved shirt with black slacks down to her nylon-laced knees. Her lips were colored the perfect tinge of crimson, and her mascara was perfectly applied to her face, which needed little makeup to enhance her radiant, youthful features, even against the dimly lit, smoky room.
As she entered, the room became completely silent for a moment, so that only the sound of her black heels could be heard clomping on the bar's wooden floor. All eyes stared at her stunning beauty, and even Scott was taken aback by the almost unreal aura of perfection that seemed to surround her.
"Well well!" She laughed as she tossed her jacket to her husband. "Chuck, you'd think I was the Mata Hari the way your friends looked at me! Too bad I forgot how to speak German, eh?"
"That's not the impression I got last night, Glennis." Chuck snorted.
"Oh, you naughty!" Glennis laughed as she smacked him on the shoulder. "That's the last time I talk to you at night!"
This provoked the room again, and they began to laugh hard as Chuck ducked and attempted to defend himself from Glennis' mock rage. Then, he ran behind Boyd, who laughed at the scene.
"Boss! You gotta help me!"
"Aaah, help you nothing!" Boyd and Glennis both laughed. "Not until you've had a few beers!"
"So this is the great Albert Boyd my husband talks about." Glennis held out her hand to him. "He's told me all about you."
"And likewise, you must be the beautiful Glennis that Chuck always speak of." Boyd smile as he kissed her hand. "When he said you were like a movie star, he wasn't kidding."
"A movie star!" Someone said as they raised their glass. "I'd say like Helen of Troy!"
"Helen of Troy!" Everyone laughed as Chuck shook his head, chortling. "You'd be better off outta the horse then trying for her, Jack!"
"Glennis!" Jack laughed in reply, holding his glass up. "To Glennis, the most beautiful woman in the world next to Helen of Troy! Glamorous Glennis!"
Then, to Scott's surprise, Jack began to sing, his tones in a drunk, off tone set of notes.
"Oooh, when I look upon my Glennis." He stumbled towards Glennis, his tone even more off-key as he did it. "The world stops for yooooooooou..."
More laughter rang out at this, and a small chorus started to sing in loud, slurred bar and timbre of note to the song, one which they all knew by heart. It had been, after all, a very big hit by a famous artist the year before, though everyone was too drunk to remember the singer's name.
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" The bar laughed at the sustained word. "Glamorous Glennis, that look you give! Beautiful Glennis, I'm.positiiive! The feeling in my heeaaaart, its all riiiight.."
Scott shook his head at the revelry, his thoughts tinged with reminders of Mary at the song; it had been a favorite of hers and she even had a record of it. Nevertheless, though, he smiled from all the beer he took in. He looked at the bottom of his mug, thought for a moment, and then went up to the bar. The sensation he had overtook thoughts of Mary, and if the beer could make it stick, then he'd simply have another round. He got to the bar as the song's final verse rang out from every other person in the bar.
"Can I staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay with yoooooooooooooooooooou toniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
-------------------------------
This was going to be his last drink.
It was past midnight, and Scott was still at the bar, his hand drowsily on a glass of Budweiser. He knew, from the amount of beer he had, that the chance of a hangover was imminent in the morning. Yet it mattered not to him. For on top of being drunk on the brew, he was drunk on something else entirely too abstract for human mouths to drink from.
He took another gulp, and the scene of that afternoon came back to him. He had helped Chuck Yeager into the XS-1 as it was being loaded into the B-52, and an hour later, watched it as it flew like a shooting star in the desert afternoon. The sensation of simply watching the rocket as it was dropped from the B-52, only to soar on its own at a speed that had once been inconceivable to his ignorant mind was incredible. Though there had been several runs before, the results of those didn't match the feeling he had now.
Like a bird.. His finger rubbed over the edge of his glass. To be free like that..to have no cares save that you only have to go faster...The look on Chuck's face when he got out of the plane was so..different. Like the experience changed him. It boiled his blood to go faster...like I want to go..and then I..
"Hedgehog."
Scott slowly turned around to see Redson. The alcohol had not completely worn off of him, for his face was still flushed as he sat down next to Scott.
"Still here, so close to last call?"
"..Still got an hour left."
"Well, guess since there's nothing else to do." Redson smacked his hand on the table. "Kamikaze for me, keep!"
"'Kamikaze'?"
"Vodka." A shot was put down in front of Redson. "Also get me a beer. This mixture's very potent and makes your mouth dry. Gets you drunk quick."
"Nice."
".Glennis.." Redson shook his head. "Now that...that is something to get drunk over if she left you."
"Indeed." Scott chuckled. "Sounds nice."
"Beautiful." Redson hummed. "But all women are beautiful when you're single, especially the married ones, sadly."
"Don't go near my wife then."
".Wife, Hedgehog?" Redson's eyebrow crimped. "You got yourself a wife?"
Scott knew what was coming next. He wasn't too keen on telling anyone here at Muroe, especially since the other men met their wives in much more respectable circumstances. However, the drink was in him, and it worked to the point where much of his sense was gone, and so he hummed and gave a chuckle as he contemplated his answer.
"So, what's your story?"
"...If you must know..." Scott fingered the glass
"Where'd you meet your girl?"
"...Mt. Sinai. A bit a ways away from my town."
"Really?" Redson looked surprised.
"Yeah...." Scott looked into the empty glass. "I knew her bro from my high school track team meets. She....was sixteen."
There was a moment of silence from Redson at this. Scott could feel himself shrivel up at the fact he was even telling a man who was still a stranger to him his deep secrets. After all, such things were looked upon down what Scott slipped out.
".....Ooooh...." And yet Redson only laughed. "Hey. It happens to fellas all the time. You're not the only one. You can consider your secret safe with me." He then smirked. "'Sides which, we're both drunker than dead cats in a cadaver class, so's not like we all'll remember nothing of it."
"I was in love with her, though." Scott stared at the mug still. "I still do like her, quite a bit, maybe even more than before."
"So a hedgehog's teenaged fling blossomed into true love." Redson raised his glass in a romantic gesture, although in his state drunkenly shaky. "So, you knock her up?"
"Yes."
"You have to marry her?"
"I didn't mind it at all," Scott felt himself pale. "Though my dad gave me a few smacks for it. Almost broke my jaw doing it too."
"Bah," Redson snorted as he swayed. "I'd never hit my kids like that. A good spanking does much better."
"Married....then drafted." Scott put the glass down. "They called me a week later. I turned 18 in January. I got into the Air Force, and I was active with the 12th in Ellsworth down in South Dakota. Worked out of England, was in the European theater for about a year as a bomb squadron pilot." He paused. "Got reassigned in 1944 to the interceptor squadron - the 10th from Alaska - and when the war ended they sent me back to Rome Air Depot to be closer to my family."
"Hmm....12th, right?" Redson smiled. "You were in the Italian invasion by any chance?"
"Yes...I was selected. I was a part of some of the overnight bombings over Salerno."
"A part of the big fight, eh?" Redson smiled, but shook his head. "I got hit by a beam in the face. Lost some of my vision, so they stopped me from fighting. Had to retire, but when I started working for Bell they called me back up as liason between the military and Bell."
"A shame." Scott looked into his glass, his eyes hazing up from all the liquid he drank. He staggered up. "I gotta be going soon."
As he started to stagger up, Redson took his arm for a moment.
"One thing...Now, this'll sound strange....but I never got to see combat, so...." Redson looked at Scott. "Hedgehog, you ever kill anyone during that campaign you were in at Salerno? How'd it feel?"
Scott gulped down the rest of his beer. Though his mind was almost completely bogged with beer and rum, a spark of sense seemed to appear at the question.
"....Nope." He took his arm out of Redson's grip. A ghost of a smirk came on his face. "Never killed no one. Never saw anyone die. Sorry to disappoint you, man."
With that, he staggered out of the bar, knowing that he, and Redson, would be too drunk to remember anything they said in the morning. And he was glad for that.
-----------------------
Click.
The lantern swung like a pendulum, slowly, silently, as it was turned on. The light that came from it shined on the face of the interrogator as it swung towards the door.
"Unverschämtheit. Sie sprechen von den Plänen Ihres Kommandanten. Warten Sie einen Moment und Sie sehen."
There was no reply from the shadows. Turning on his heels, the interrogator - in his mid-forties, his features chiseled through years of war and hatred - adjusted his decorated brown uniform haughtily as he turned from the racial specimen he beheld. With a spit to the floor, he left the room, closing the basement door behind him.
"Kapitän. Diesen abgeschlossen?" He asked as he tromped up the stairs of the modest cottage.
"Ja, Kommandant."
"Gut." The commander motioned to the beefy man behind the. "Rufen Sie den Unterbrecher herbei."
The beefy man nodded, and took off his top. He was a fearful man, the perfect person to break a prisoner, to bleed information out of them. His veins visibly bulged as he adjusted his undershirt - a black garment, with the feared symbol of the swastika blazed boldly on the front. He was a member of the feared Black Shirts, and while they were not as renowned as the brown-shirted SS, or as harsh as the death camp kapo, they were no less brutal. The owners of the house - an Italian coffee store owner and his wife - knew this too well and could account for it; at least, they would have, if they had not already been dispatched the day before.
Cracking his knuckles, and exercising his hands for the upcoming task, he walked downstairs behind the commander, puffing out his already muscular chest and letting the breath out. Behind him was another soldier, though not a commanding officer. He tucked his hair under his hat as he followed.
Finally, they opened the door, and the commander spoke again, this time pronouncing slowly to get the correct syllables out.
"Scott Garnet."
The soldier sat in the dank, dark room, his hands tied so tightly behind his back that they were bleeding.
"Sie sind Amerikaner. Und Sie werden mit uns sagen wenn Sie Ihr Leben bewerten. Welche Ihre Entladung in Den amerikanischen Luftkräften?"
Scott simply looked at the German men. In the dark, all of the glittering medals on the officer seemed to dance on his uniform demonically when they caught the dim lamp light.
"Ob von welchem die Einheit Sie ist? Wo Sie geleitet wurden?" The officer smirked, then with a nod allowed the breaker to punch Scott square in the mouth. " ANTWORTEN SIE mich, der Hund!"
"I..."
Scott spat out blood. It was difficult to concentrate, to even form words. He had not been fed for several days since they found him, tangled up in his plane parts outside of the city. His ears rang from the impact, and he knew full well what could happen if they had any idea of the plans his squadron had.
"I..don't..."
"ANTWORT!" Another punch connected with Scott's face, and he almost was knocked out from it. "Minderwertiger Jude, wo die Verbündeten sind, zum zu landen, nachdem sie Salerno? in Angriff genommen haben!"
"I...don't...know...German.."
"ANTWOOOORT!"
"Kommandant!"
Suddenly, the soldier stepped up into the light. The commander looked at him with widened eyes, and the Black Shirt turned to face him. From his position, as blurry as it was, Scott could see that the soldier was relatively young, almost his age.
"Obergefreites!" The commander's words were through clenched teeth. "Ist dieses insubordinance?"
" Mit Respekt kann Kommandant," The young man stepped forward. "der amerikanische Jude möglicherweise nicht die Sprache des Vaterlands kennen. Lassen Sie mich mit ihm in seiner Muttersprache sprechen, und er kann bis zu mir erweichen." The soldier smirked. " Amerikaner sind so minderwertig."
"..Ja."
Nodding, the commander nodded, and the Black Shirt took a step back, cracking his knuckles. Slowly, Scott watched as the soldier circled him for a good minute, looking down on him in the light.
".GRAH!!"
Scott almost screamed louder when the soldier suddenly pulled the hair centered around a concussion he had received in crashing his plane. Almost just as fast, he could feel the soldier's breath on him, and turning up he could see glimpses of the fiery crimson hair tucked under his cap as he whispered into his ear.
"No worrying, American." The whisper was very soft and low, but it sounded callous as well. "Play. They think I torture you, but calmness to my play and you will free soon."
"...Fine.." Scott gulped. "..I..I don't know..anything.."
The soldier nodded, as if to confirm Scott's response, as if to agree to Scott's consent. Then he stood back up. His hand almost instantly flew back into Scott's face, balled up in a fist-
*CRAAAAASH*
"AAAAAH!"
His eyes bolted open, and he flew up, gasping for breath as he held his chest. It had contracted tightly from the crashing sound; it had sounded like the pounding of mortar shells upon a wooden roof in his deep sleep.
Looking over, however, he saw that his flailing arm had, in his fitful sleep, knocked his clock off of its stand. Again.
God dammit.. As Scott attempted to get up, he was instantly hit by a hangover headache. I really need to stop drinking so much one day..
It had not been the first time his flailing in sleep had disturbed him, and Scott knew it wouldn't be the last, given the dreams he had. With a moan, he looked down at the clock, and turned it over. What he saw gave him a shock.
"NINE THIRTY FIVE?!"
The dream, and the hangover, had made him late - very late. He was instantly up, throwing his clothing on as he ran out the door. He flew out of the shack, through the small line of shacks for the out-of-state officers and onto the field, his shirt barely on. As he went towards the middle, however, he stopped.
What the..
There was no one on the field as he looked around, at least no one working. The planes were not out; the wood hangars were shuttered and closed off. The only sign of work, or of anyone there, was a group of four mechanics talking with Jack Ridley, which Scott spotted over to the far left of the airfield from where he stood. Quickly, he walked over to them, buttoning up his shirt as he did.
".you sure?"
"I'm positive."
"So we start again tomorrow?"
"That's right."
As the workers walked off grumbling, Ridley lookup up and spotted Scott approaching him at a brisk pace. Nodding, he walked over to the young man.
"Captain Garnet."
"Sir." Scott hastily saluted him as he finished buttoning his shirt. "Sir.I apologize for being late-"
"No apologies, Hedgehog." Ridley shook his head; everyone now called him Hedgehog, even the commanding project officers. "As you were. The colonel called it a day off today on short notice. You weren't the only one who was taken by surprise."
"..Day off?" Scott looked at Ridley, confused. "Why-"
"The official reason is that Yeager is sick."
".Oh. With, uh, a common illness we had?"
"..The official reason."
Scott paused. He noticed a look of worry in Ridley's eyes.
".I won't inquire, sir."
"No, Hedgehog, I think its best you know." Ridley looked down. "You are an officer, you are in the chain-of-command. You have a right to know."
"How am I in the chai-"
"If you weren't in the chain I would still tell you as a confidant. I know I can trust you, you look like a good fella, Hedgehog." Ridley interrupted Scott. "The real reason was because..there was an incident at the Yeager's temp house last night."
"..What?!"
"Someone broke into their house while they were out last night. It happened sometime at 0300 this morning." Ridley looked at the shocked captain's face. "Yes, it's a surprise. Especially with what they took from the Captain and his wife."
".What did they take?"
".Items of sentimental value. Nothing like jewelry - more like their entire bookshelf." Scott's mouth hung open. "A lot of photos. A lot. And plenty of other personal items."
"..But no jewelry? No money?"
"None." Ridley shook his head. "I went there and saw it. But I'd say you agree it's bizarre, and its scared Chuckie and Glennis a bit."
"..How are they coping? I mean..."
Scott's head went down. He thought of Mary and Sherry, and of other things, as he spoke.
".Who could do that?"
"Someone who's insane, that's for sure." Ridley was still shaking his head. After a moment, he stopped and patted Scott's shoulder. "But we'll have to leave it up to the MPs at Wright Field. For now, enjoy the day off, Hedgehog."
Scott nodded as Ridley walked off. He rubbed his head, his eyes gazing involuntarily towards the sky, towards the horizon of the distant mountains. He wondered how the Yeagers could be holding up with such a terrible thing happening to them. He then wondered, deep within himself, who would be so insane as to take such precious memories away from the loving couple he had seen the previous night.
Dear Mary and Sherry,
August 15, 1947
***WARNING, TYPE 4729-BRX: SENSITIVE MATERIAL CENSORED BY USAF***
To Mary:
I am having an incredible time here. Its been long and hard, as I've been having to be trained in a new type of mechanics. It has difficult to explain to you what I have been called in for, for many of reasons, some sensitive, some just difficult to explain period.....let us say that I have been called in to work "?f---(?(?&#\]ff§¢??????-?. I have had to absorb everything I've learned like a sponge, though I have little problem with it. It is different from before. The first test *h"?????????? ____"#???-- *h"??????Æ^???.
I've learned that you may be able to visit near the end of the time I have here. Though, its in the middle of nowhere, and very hot, so I'm not sure about whether you want Shelley in a swoon like that.
But no matter what, no matter if you visit or not, I still love you, and remember to kiss Shelley for me at night. Also, please, if you must tell her THE STORY, be careful not to mention anything bad I may have written to you before. I would prefer her not to know all of it, like I would tell her.
Also, check up on my dad; he sounded hoarser the last time I spoke to him on the phone.
Sherry: Are you being good for mommy and grandpa? Make sure you eat your food, and sleep with Bear Bear at night. I hear you are going to go to preschool in Westmoreland with Mrs. Cianfracco? Make lots of friends there and tell me how it turns out!
Love to all of you,
Your Hedgehog
(and to Shelley, your Daddy) XXOOLL
---------------------
August 29, 1947
The crowd at Fly Inn was louder than normal on the hot August night.
"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" Jack Ridley, the head USAF engineer, was on a table, a mug of cold brew in his hand. "To the third fastest man alive, Chuck Yeager! CHEERS!"
The entire bar - filled with USAF and Bell personnel - cheered and smacked their glasses together in a slight drunken stupor. Earlier that day, Chuck Yeager, junior pilot in comparison to most his rank, had achieved a speed of .85Mach on the first true test run of the XS-1. Everyone, even Colonel Boyd, had put on their better clothes and packed into Pancho Barnes' little run-down restaurant to celebrate.
"Ok, ok!!" Boyd laughed. "But remember, we've got to survive to one Mach without a hangover, right men?"
This had everyone whooping up a laughing storm in the dimly lit restaurant, clinking glasses again and reveling in a euphoric atmosphere; one not seen, it could be said, since the end of the war two years earlier. The beer and gin passed easily through the throats of the men, singing a raspy song of celebration on their accomplishments.
"Hey, Hedgehog!"
"Hedgehog?"
"Yeah. Scott Garnet. Hedgehog! Whoop! Ha ha!"
Bud Anderson, flanked by another man, laughed as he sat down at a small wooden table next to Scott. Scott, in turn, had sat alone, a shot of rum in his hands. He gave a nod to them as he sat.
"Chuck told me your nice porcupine nickname." He laughed. "Don't be alarmed, though. I'm a friend of Chuck's; he'll be here soon, he's getting his wife who's staying in Los Angeles for the duration."
"Wife?"
"Glennis. Damn fine woman." Bud turned to his associate. "Scott Garnet - call him Hedgehog - meet Captain John Redson. He's the go-to man for Bell and the USAF since 1945."
"Pleased to meet you." Scott shook Redson's hand.
"Yes, Bud." Redson smirked. "I've heard some stories of the beautiful wife of our legendary friend. But maybe you can regale us two ignoramuses on her beauty. As, Bud, you are, of course, the close friend of the Yeagers."
"Baah, bullcrap there!" Bud laughed. "Chuckie'd kill me if I had anything intimate with his wife! 'Sides which, I have my own wife that satisfies me just perfect, thank you!"
"I'll drink to that." Scott swigged his rum down.
"Bah, single men always lose out." Redson smirked. "Though I've seen a few wild cats in my lifetime that can whip the skirt off of any delicate lamb- like housewife with the right moves."
"Oh yeah," Scott couldn't help but smirk.
"Oh, yeah." Redson swigged another sip. "Like the Jap show girl prostitutes. They call 'em geishas, and they cater to the sorts of people like the emperor of the country. Not only can they make your privates burn for the price of a gallon of milk." Those who heard were roaring with laughter at this, ".but they can sing, dance and give you rice wine simultaneously while doing it! And they start out fully clothed, made up, all dolled up with all the trappings! Like tamed tigers, I tell you! They'll treat you like a king more, on less money, than any cat or lamb in this county!"
"Sounds nice," Scott murmured quietly.
"OOH HOHO HO HO!" Bud roared. "If you get that for the price of milk, I'm changing drinks right this instant!!"
This resulted in a loud ovation of laughter, and glasses clinked as the men gave a shout to the geishas of Japan.
"Heeey!" Suddenly, the voice of Jack Ridley silenced everyone. "Look who's coming!"
At that, Chuck Yeager entered, still wearing his pilot uniform and jacket, beaming from ear to ear. Crooked onto his left arm was the bare, ivory arm of a shapely young woman, who wore an orange cotton short-sleeved shirt with black slacks down to her nylon-laced knees. Her lips were colored the perfect tinge of crimson, and her mascara was perfectly applied to her face, which needed little makeup to enhance her radiant, youthful features, even against the dimly lit, smoky room.
As she entered, the room became completely silent for a moment, so that only the sound of her black heels could be heard clomping on the bar's wooden floor. All eyes stared at her stunning beauty, and even Scott was taken aback by the almost unreal aura of perfection that seemed to surround her.
"Well well!" She laughed as she tossed her jacket to her husband. "Chuck, you'd think I was the Mata Hari the way your friends looked at me! Too bad I forgot how to speak German, eh?"
"That's not the impression I got last night, Glennis." Chuck snorted.
"Oh, you naughty!" Glennis laughed as she smacked him on the shoulder. "That's the last time I talk to you at night!"
This provoked the room again, and they began to laugh hard as Chuck ducked and attempted to defend himself from Glennis' mock rage. Then, he ran behind Boyd, who laughed at the scene.
"Boss! You gotta help me!"
"Aaah, help you nothing!" Boyd and Glennis both laughed. "Not until you've had a few beers!"
"So this is the great Albert Boyd my husband talks about." Glennis held out her hand to him. "He's told me all about you."
"And likewise, you must be the beautiful Glennis that Chuck always speak of." Boyd smile as he kissed her hand. "When he said you were like a movie star, he wasn't kidding."
"A movie star!" Someone said as they raised their glass. "I'd say like Helen of Troy!"
"Helen of Troy!" Everyone laughed as Chuck shook his head, chortling. "You'd be better off outta the horse then trying for her, Jack!"
"Glennis!" Jack laughed in reply, holding his glass up. "To Glennis, the most beautiful woman in the world next to Helen of Troy! Glamorous Glennis!"
Then, to Scott's surprise, Jack began to sing, his tones in a drunk, off tone set of notes.
"Oooh, when I look upon my Glennis." He stumbled towards Glennis, his tone even more off-key as he did it. "The world stops for yooooooooou..."
More laughter rang out at this, and a small chorus started to sing in loud, slurred bar and timbre of note to the song, one which they all knew by heart. It had been, after all, a very big hit by a famous artist the year before, though everyone was too drunk to remember the singer's name.
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" The bar laughed at the sustained word. "Glamorous Glennis, that look you give! Beautiful Glennis, I'm.positiiive! The feeling in my heeaaaart, its all riiiight.."
Scott shook his head at the revelry, his thoughts tinged with reminders of Mary at the song; it had been a favorite of hers and she even had a record of it. Nevertheless, though, he smiled from all the beer he took in. He looked at the bottom of his mug, thought for a moment, and then went up to the bar. The sensation he had overtook thoughts of Mary, and if the beer could make it stick, then he'd simply have another round. He got to the bar as the song's final verse rang out from every other person in the bar.
"Can I staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay with yoooooooooooooooooooou toniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
-------------------------------
This was going to be his last drink.
It was past midnight, and Scott was still at the bar, his hand drowsily on a glass of Budweiser. He knew, from the amount of beer he had, that the chance of a hangover was imminent in the morning. Yet it mattered not to him. For on top of being drunk on the brew, he was drunk on something else entirely too abstract for human mouths to drink from.
He took another gulp, and the scene of that afternoon came back to him. He had helped Chuck Yeager into the XS-1 as it was being loaded into the B-52, and an hour later, watched it as it flew like a shooting star in the desert afternoon. The sensation of simply watching the rocket as it was dropped from the B-52, only to soar on its own at a speed that had once been inconceivable to his ignorant mind was incredible. Though there had been several runs before, the results of those didn't match the feeling he had now.
Like a bird.. His finger rubbed over the edge of his glass. To be free like that..to have no cares save that you only have to go faster...The look on Chuck's face when he got out of the plane was so..different. Like the experience changed him. It boiled his blood to go faster...like I want to go..and then I..
"Hedgehog."
Scott slowly turned around to see Redson. The alcohol had not completely worn off of him, for his face was still flushed as he sat down next to Scott.
"Still here, so close to last call?"
"..Still got an hour left."
"Well, guess since there's nothing else to do." Redson smacked his hand on the table. "Kamikaze for me, keep!"
"'Kamikaze'?"
"Vodka." A shot was put down in front of Redson. "Also get me a beer. This mixture's very potent and makes your mouth dry. Gets you drunk quick."
"Nice."
".Glennis.." Redson shook his head. "Now that...that is something to get drunk over if she left you."
"Indeed." Scott chuckled. "Sounds nice."
"Beautiful." Redson hummed. "But all women are beautiful when you're single, especially the married ones, sadly."
"Don't go near my wife then."
".Wife, Hedgehog?" Redson's eyebrow crimped. "You got yourself a wife?"
Scott knew what was coming next. He wasn't too keen on telling anyone here at Muroe, especially since the other men met their wives in much more respectable circumstances. However, the drink was in him, and it worked to the point where much of his sense was gone, and so he hummed and gave a chuckle as he contemplated his answer.
"So, what's your story?"
"...If you must know..." Scott fingered the glass
"Where'd you meet your girl?"
"...Mt. Sinai. A bit a ways away from my town."
"Really?" Redson looked surprised.
"Yeah...." Scott looked into the empty glass. "I knew her bro from my high school track team meets. She....was sixteen."
There was a moment of silence from Redson at this. Scott could feel himself shrivel up at the fact he was even telling a man who was still a stranger to him his deep secrets. After all, such things were looked upon down what Scott slipped out.
".....Ooooh...." And yet Redson only laughed. "Hey. It happens to fellas all the time. You're not the only one. You can consider your secret safe with me." He then smirked. "'Sides which, we're both drunker than dead cats in a cadaver class, so's not like we all'll remember nothing of it."
"I was in love with her, though." Scott stared at the mug still. "I still do like her, quite a bit, maybe even more than before."
"So a hedgehog's teenaged fling blossomed into true love." Redson raised his glass in a romantic gesture, although in his state drunkenly shaky. "So, you knock her up?"
"Yes."
"You have to marry her?"
"I didn't mind it at all," Scott felt himself pale. "Though my dad gave me a few smacks for it. Almost broke my jaw doing it too."
"Bah," Redson snorted as he swayed. "I'd never hit my kids like that. A good spanking does much better."
"Married....then drafted." Scott put the glass down. "They called me a week later. I turned 18 in January. I got into the Air Force, and I was active with the 12th in Ellsworth down in South Dakota. Worked out of England, was in the European theater for about a year as a bomb squadron pilot." He paused. "Got reassigned in 1944 to the interceptor squadron - the 10th from Alaska - and when the war ended they sent me back to Rome Air Depot to be closer to my family."
"Hmm....12th, right?" Redson smiled. "You were in the Italian invasion by any chance?"
"Yes...I was selected. I was a part of some of the overnight bombings over Salerno."
"A part of the big fight, eh?" Redson smiled, but shook his head. "I got hit by a beam in the face. Lost some of my vision, so they stopped me from fighting. Had to retire, but when I started working for Bell they called me back up as liason between the military and Bell."
"A shame." Scott looked into his glass, his eyes hazing up from all the liquid he drank. He staggered up. "I gotta be going soon."
As he started to stagger up, Redson took his arm for a moment.
"One thing...Now, this'll sound strange....but I never got to see combat, so...." Redson looked at Scott. "Hedgehog, you ever kill anyone during that campaign you were in at Salerno? How'd it feel?"
Scott gulped down the rest of his beer. Though his mind was almost completely bogged with beer and rum, a spark of sense seemed to appear at the question.
"....Nope." He took his arm out of Redson's grip. A ghost of a smirk came on his face. "Never killed no one. Never saw anyone die. Sorry to disappoint you, man."
With that, he staggered out of the bar, knowing that he, and Redson, would be too drunk to remember anything they said in the morning. And he was glad for that.
-----------------------
Click.
The lantern swung like a pendulum, slowly, silently, as it was turned on. The light that came from it shined on the face of the interrogator as it swung towards the door.
"Unverschämtheit. Sie sprechen von den Plänen Ihres Kommandanten. Warten Sie einen Moment und Sie sehen."
There was no reply from the shadows. Turning on his heels, the interrogator - in his mid-forties, his features chiseled through years of war and hatred - adjusted his decorated brown uniform haughtily as he turned from the racial specimen he beheld. With a spit to the floor, he left the room, closing the basement door behind him.
"Kapitän. Diesen abgeschlossen?" He asked as he tromped up the stairs of the modest cottage.
"Ja, Kommandant."
"Gut." The commander motioned to the beefy man behind the. "Rufen Sie den Unterbrecher herbei."
The beefy man nodded, and took off his top. He was a fearful man, the perfect person to break a prisoner, to bleed information out of them. His veins visibly bulged as he adjusted his undershirt - a black garment, with the feared symbol of the swastika blazed boldly on the front. He was a member of the feared Black Shirts, and while they were not as renowned as the brown-shirted SS, or as harsh as the death camp kapo, they were no less brutal. The owners of the house - an Italian coffee store owner and his wife - knew this too well and could account for it; at least, they would have, if they had not already been dispatched the day before.
Cracking his knuckles, and exercising his hands for the upcoming task, he walked downstairs behind the commander, puffing out his already muscular chest and letting the breath out. Behind him was another soldier, though not a commanding officer. He tucked his hair under his hat as he followed.
Finally, they opened the door, and the commander spoke again, this time pronouncing slowly to get the correct syllables out.
"Scott Garnet."
The soldier sat in the dank, dark room, his hands tied so tightly behind his back that they were bleeding.
"Sie sind Amerikaner. Und Sie werden mit uns sagen wenn Sie Ihr Leben bewerten. Welche Ihre Entladung in Den amerikanischen Luftkräften?"
Scott simply looked at the German men. In the dark, all of the glittering medals on the officer seemed to dance on his uniform demonically when they caught the dim lamp light.
"Ob von welchem die Einheit Sie ist? Wo Sie geleitet wurden?" The officer smirked, then with a nod allowed the breaker to punch Scott square in the mouth. " ANTWORTEN SIE mich, der Hund!"
"I..."
Scott spat out blood. It was difficult to concentrate, to even form words. He had not been fed for several days since they found him, tangled up in his plane parts outside of the city. His ears rang from the impact, and he knew full well what could happen if they had any idea of the plans his squadron had.
"I..don't..."
"ANTWORT!" Another punch connected with Scott's face, and he almost was knocked out from it. "Minderwertiger Jude, wo die Verbündeten sind, zum zu landen, nachdem sie Salerno? in Angriff genommen haben!"
"I...don't...know...German.."
"ANTWOOOORT!"
"Kommandant!"
Suddenly, the soldier stepped up into the light. The commander looked at him with widened eyes, and the Black Shirt turned to face him. From his position, as blurry as it was, Scott could see that the soldier was relatively young, almost his age.
"Obergefreites!" The commander's words were through clenched teeth. "Ist dieses insubordinance?"
" Mit Respekt kann Kommandant," The young man stepped forward. "der amerikanische Jude möglicherweise nicht die Sprache des Vaterlands kennen. Lassen Sie mich mit ihm in seiner Muttersprache sprechen, und er kann bis zu mir erweichen." The soldier smirked. " Amerikaner sind so minderwertig."
"..Ja."
Nodding, the commander nodded, and the Black Shirt took a step back, cracking his knuckles. Slowly, Scott watched as the soldier circled him for a good minute, looking down on him in the light.
".GRAH!!"
Scott almost screamed louder when the soldier suddenly pulled the hair centered around a concussion he had received in crashing his plane. Almost just as fast, he could feel the soldier's breath on him, and turning up he could see glimpses of the fiery crimson hair tucked under his cap as he whispered into his ear.
"No worrying, American." The whisper was very soft and low, but it sounded callous as well. "Play. They think I torture you, but calmness to my play and you will free soon."
"...Fine.." Scott gulped. "..I..I don't know..anything.."
The soldier nodded, as if to confirm Scott's response, as if to agree to Scott's consent. Then he stood back up. His hand almost instantly flew back into Scott's face, balled up in a fist-
*CRAAAAASH*
"AAAAAH!"
His eyes bolted open, and he flew up, gasping for breath as he held his chest. It had contracted tightly from the crashing sound; it had sounded like the pounding of mortar shells upon a wooden roof in his deep sleep.
Looking over, however, he saw that his flailing arm had, in his fitful sleep, knocked his clock off of its stand. Again.
God dammit.. As Scott attempted to get up, he was instantly hit by a hangover headache. I really need to stop drinking so much one day..
It had not been the first time his flailing in sleep had disturbed him, and Scott knew it wouldn't be the last, given the dreams he had. With a moan, he looked down at the clock, and turned it over. What he saw gave him a shock.
"NINE THIRTY FIVE?!"
The dream, and the hangover, had made him late - very late. He was instantly up, throwing his clothing on as he ran out the door. He flew out of the shack, through the small line of shacks for the out-of-state officers and onto the field, his shirt barely on. As he went towards the middle, however, he stopped.
What the..
There was no one on the field as he looked around, at least no one working. The planes were not out; the wood hangars were shuttered and closed off. The only sign of work, or of anyone there, was a group of four mechanics talking with Jack Ridley, which Scott spotted over to the far left of the airfield from where he stood. Quickly, he walked over to them, buttoning up his shirt as he did.
".you sure?"
"I'm positive."
"So we start again tomorrow?"
"That's right."
As the workers walked off grumbling, Ridley lookup up and spotted Scott approaching him at a brisk pace. Nodding, he walked over to the young man.
"Captain Garnet."
"Sir." Scott hastily saluted him as he finished buttoning his shirt. "Sir.I apologize for being late-"
"No apologies, Hedgehog." Ridley shook his head; everyone now called him Hedgehog, even the commanding project officers. "As you were. The colonel called it a day off today on short notice. You weren't the only one who was taken by surprise."
"..Day off?" Scott looked at Ridley, confused. "Why-"
"The official reason is that Yeager is sick."
".Oh. With, uh, a common illness we had?"
"..The official reason."
Scott paused. He noticed a look of worry in Ridley's eyes.
".I won't inquire, sir."
"No, Hedgehog, I think its best you know." Ridley looked down. "You are an officer, you are in the chain-of-command. You have a right to know."
"How am I in the chai-"
"If you weren't in the chain I would still tell you as a confidant. I know I can trust you, you look like a good fella, Hedgehog." Ridley interrupted Scott. "The real reason was because..there was an incident at the Yeager's temp house last night."
"..What?!"
"Someone broke into their house while they were out last night. It happened sometime at 0300 this morning." Ridley looked at the shocked captain's face. "Yes, it's a surprise. Especially with what they took from the Captain and his wife."
".What did they take?"
".Items of sentimental value. Nothing like jewelry - more like their entire bookshelf." Scott's mouth hung open. "A lot of photos. A lot. And plenty of other personal items."
"..But no jewelry? No money?"
"None." Ridley shook his head. "I went there and saw it. But I'd say you agree it's bizarre, and its scared Chuckie and Glennis a bit."
"..How are they coping? I mean..."
Scott's head went down. He thought of Mary and Sherry, and of other things, as he spoke.
".Who could do that?"
"Someone who's insane, that's for sure." Ridley was still shaking his head. After a moment, he stopped and patted Scott's shoulder. "But we'll have to leave it up to the MPs at Wright Field. For now, enjoy the day off, Hedgehog."
Scott nodded as Ridley walked off. He rubbed his head, his eyes gazing involuntarily towards the sky, towards the horizon of the distant mountains. He wondered how the Yeagers could be holding up with such a terrible thing happening to them. He then wondered, deep within himself, who would be so insane as to take such precious memories away from the loving couple he had seen the previous night.