

We'll Meet Again

A Coming of Age Novel

by

Hellcat41

We'll Meet Again

Copyright © 2017

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the writer except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

DISCLAIMER: We'll Meet Again is a work of fiction. Characters and the role these characters play in historical events are purely products of the writer's imagination. Any similarity or resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is not intended and should not be inferred.

Crimson Star Publishing

Dallas, Texas, USA

To the gallant men and women of the Greatest Generation

Cover Art by Shutterstock

Special Thanks to

CAPT Ronald L. Frazee, U.S. Navy (Ret.) for technical advice

Opal L. Kara for medical advice

Sweetie, my muse

THE FIVE FRIENDS

Sweetie Glass, nee Stephenson: Beautiful and intelligent. Kept a secret to herself for many years.

Bobby Howe: Wanted to see the world even at the expense of the one he loved.

Harry Glass: Tall, blond, handsome and well-liked by everybody. Had it all, but wanted more.

Paul Browning: Intelligent, but unsure of his role in life.

Vonciel Browning, nee York: Lived for Paul.

Prologue

Bardia, Libya

January 2, 1941

Lieutenant General Annibale Bergonzoli, who carried the sobriquet "Electric Whiskers" because of his bright red beard, commanded this Italian stronghold on the border between Libya and Egypt. Italian dictator Benito Mussolini ordered his general to hold Bardia at "whatever costs" to prevent the British and Commonwealth forces from further incursion into Libya. Electric Whiskers replied, "In Bardia we are, and here we stay." General Bergonzoli, a veteran of the Spanish Civil War, was admired and well respected by the troops serving under his command. Morale among the defenders of Bardia was high.

On the morning of the second of January, British Bomber Command sent every available bomber into action against the 45,000 Italian troops holding Bardia. Bombing continued throughout the day and night. On the following day, three battleships of the Royal Navy, along with several cruisers and other warships positioned offshore, commenced an intensive bombardment of the defenses of the beleaguered city. The Italian defenders suffered extensive casualties.

On the fourth of January, General Bergonzoli, concluding the situation in Bardia was hopeless, donned the uniform of a private and, with about a dozen of his most loyal troops, slipped out of the city under the cover of the early morning darkness. This group escaped to Tobruk, seventy miles to the west. At sunset on the same day, the 40,000 troops who survived the aerial bombing, the naval bombardment, and the assaults on the outlying defenses struck the Italian flag in front of the Government House and ran up a white flag of surrender.

On January fifth, a detachment of Gurkha troops reconnoitering the Bardia hospital, which survived the bombardment with little damage, found a patient handcuffed to his bed with his head bandaged and his arm in a sling. He identified himself as an American pilot in the South African Air Force, whose plane crash-landed behind Italian lines a few weeks earlier.
Chapter 1

Bogalusa, Louisiana

April 23, 1938

Sweetie Stephenson and Bobby Howe enjoyed each other's company Saturday morning as Bobby worked on a motorcycle in the shade under a large oak tree. The fresh smell of pine trees and wisteria permeated the air. This weather tempted the two of them to forget whatever else they planned, and ride the motorcycle about the countryside.

Sweetie's driver's license revealed her real name to be Mildred, but her mother called her "Sweetie," and everybody in town knew her only by that name – except her father and grandmother. They insisted she go by her given name. If a friend called the house asking for Sweetie, her father would shout "nobody by that name lives in this house", and slam the phone down.

In high school, Bobby quarterbacked the Lumberjacks football team and was an all-state southpaw pitcher in baseball. After graduation from high school, Bobby attended nearby Pearl River Junior College, studying pre-engineering. He earned decent grades in the ROTC military courses and science labs, but only through Sweetie's help on weekends did he eke out Bs and Cs in English and Algebra. Although only a first-year cadet, he attained the rank of Cadet Major in ROTC. The ROTC cadre recognized his natural leadership abilities, and promised he would be Cadet Commander of the Corps upon his return for his second year. Despite this offer and Sweetie's best efforts at persuasion, he dropped out of college after two semesters.

Bobby worked two jobs: as a full-time mechanic for Doyle Burdette at his service station and garage, and as a part-time mechanic and often-times pilot at the local airport. He grew up as a mechanic. His dad maintained a well-equipped commercial garage for automobiles and commercial vehicles, and, like Bobby, serviced airplane engines at the airport. Until his father developed a serious drinking problem, Bobby worked with him in his shop from the time he could hold a wrench, and even assisted his dad at the airport. His youth belied his ability to repair and overhaul every kind of reciprocating engine imaginable: automobile, truck, tractor, and airplane.

He completed the maintenance on a green 1933 Harley Davidson VLD motorcycle for one of Burdette's customers, and decided it needed an extended test run before he was sufficiently satisfied with the job. The seat on the Harley was not designed for riding two-up, but if he sat forward and Sweetie squeezed herself tight against his back and held her arms around his waist, it would suffice to transport the two of them–if not in comfort, at least effectively. They packed tins of Vienna sausages, saltine crackers, and a few vanilla wafer cookies into the panniers, together with a red-checkered tablecloth. Bobby retrieved four cans of beer from the refrigerator, wrapped them in a towel, and placed them into the seat bag. About 11 a.m., they set off on their ride, following State Highway 35, which in the last year the state finished paving all the way to Franklinton–a distance of a little over 20 miles.

In Franklinton, Bobby turned north onto State Highway 34, a well-maintained gravel road. They continued on Route 34 for about 25 miles into Mississippi, until coming to an unmarked intersection where an artesian well flowed cool water. They stopped, drank the water, sat in the nearby shade, and each smoked a Lucky Strike. Since finishing high school, Sweetie acquired a half-pack-a-day smoking habit, and for the past year Bobby smoked one to one-and-a-half packs a day.

A little after one o'clock, they mounted the motorcycle for the return trip. Several miles west of Bogalusa, Bobby turned south off the highway onto an unmarked gravel road leading into the company pasture. Everyone called this area "pasture," although now 15- to 20-year-old loblolly and slash pines grew in abundance there, creating a thick pine forest, all resulting from the paper mill's reforestation program. A few hundred yards up this road Bobby stopped, and they both dismounted the motorcycle. Looking around, they spotted no one, so Sweetie sneaked into a nearby field and picked a small watermelon which, although early in the season, looked ripe. They continued five more miles until Bobby turned right onto a logging road, and followed the packed dirt road for over two miles. There Bobby parked the motorcycle, and they carried the watermelon and picnic supplies along a footpath for about two hundred yards to a clearing overlooking a small lake fed by several springs, which people in the vicinity called "Blue Hole."

The five close friends often came to this spot to swim and picnic. Bobby put the watermelon and beer in a small flowing stream to cool. They spread the tablecloth on a sandy area; each smoked another cigarette and talked.

Bobby retrieved the watermelon from the stream and cut it open; but after seeing the color of the pulp, he said the melon was too green and they shouldn't eat it. Notwithstanding, each took a small bite, laughed, and spit the nascent white seeds at each other. Bobby retrieved each a beer from the stream, but remembered he left the can opener in the motorcycle saddle bags. Rather than walk back to the bike, his pocket knife was a sufficient tool to cut small openings in the cans. Sweetie did not drink often, but being thirsty, she finished her beer in a few gulps. She took somewhat longer to finish the second one. The cans cooled several degrees in the stream; even so, both were warm. Sweetie laughed and said she was experiencing a nice feeling from the two beers she consumed.

Sitting close to each other, their shoulders touched. Sweetie considered Bobby handsome, and took this opportunity to study him closely, admiring his chiseled American Indian features, inherited from his Choctaw mother: his jet-black hair, his high cheekbones and his ruddy complexion. They talked and laughed, as always.

Sweetie with a big smile, spoke, "Let's dance."

"Sweetie, we can't dance here, there's no music..."

"I can sing..."

She stood, pulled Bobby up and started signing the popular Frances Langford tune, Once in a While. They danced slowly, holding each other tightly as they often did at high school dances. While still dancing to Sweetie softly singing, their lips met, and they exchanged a long kiss.

Since high school, they dated often and exchanged good night kisses, but they never before kissed with this kind of passion. Neither spoke; they just continued kissing with more enthusiasm, each finding the other's tongue for the first time. Soon they lay silently together on the picnic cloth, neither saying a word continuing their kiss.

Without a word to each other, they undressed and made love. Both were virgins before this experience. Their lovemaking was spontaneous, but also awkward, perfunctory, and fast. They engaged in no foreplay, so Bobby entered her dry. The intercourse caused each a little pain, and Sweetie experienced no sensual pleasure from this experience.

As time passed, the awkwardness and pain faded from their memories, and each retained fond memories of their first sexual encounter.

A few weeks later, Sweetie awoke as the early morning sun filtered through the pecan trees in the front yard. She felt a little nausea, but took two deep breaths, and it passed. She loved to awaken on cool spring mornings after sleeping on the screened porch of her father's shotgun-style home. The front porch served as her bedroom for most of the year; other times she shared a room with Grandma, who was always critical of her, reeked of noxious breath odor, made disturbing noises when sleeping, and passed gas when awakening.

The slight breeze from the north made the morning somewhat cooler than normal for late May, but wind from that direction brought not only the coolness but also the miasma of the paper mill. The pungent odor never bothered her in the past, but this morning the smell caused her to experience another wave of nausea. She almost threw up, but again took two deep breaths, and the feeling passed. After rising, she folded the sheets, put them away, collapsed the canvas army cot she bought for two dollars from the War Surplus Store just off Columbia Road, and stowed it in the corner.

She was under no illusions as to what her nausea portended. Her breasts were tender and enlarged, and it was now over five weeks since her last menstrual period. She berated herself for what happened. She was a virgin, saving herself for her husband, but in a moment of weakness, she gave that gift to Bobby. She wondered why Bobby had not called or come by since their intimacy. She knew he was shy and never expressed his thoughts or feelings, but they needed to talk–and soon.

Sweetie carried a crush on Bobby since grade school. She and Bobby were the only two of their group of five close friends still in Bogalusa, so they spent most of the past year in each other's company.

Paul Browning was a student at Centenary College in Shreveport, finishing his second year of pre-med. Harry Glass attended Georgia Tech in Atlanta, his father's undergraduate alma mater, studying mechanical engineering. Vonciel York, finishing her second year at Sophie Newcomb College in New Orleans, majored in art history. The five got together at Christmas, but Sweetie had seen neither Harry nor Paul since then. She and Vonciel visited each other on an occasional weekend.

Sweetie graduated valedictorian of her high school class, despite working 20 hours a week at the confectionary store on Avenue F. Her classmates selected her "Most Intelligent" among senior favorites. She was runner-up as "Most Beautiful". She won a full scholarship to Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge, but her father ruled out college for her, despite pleas from Miss Quark, the school's assistant principal. He told his daughter, "Until you turn 21, you will live where I tell you to and do what I tell you to do." He believed girls in college were loose, and not much better than whores.

She learned good typing and shorthand skills in high school, and with Miss Quark's enthusiastic recommendation, the Lumberman's Bank hired her as a clerk, with a promise of advancement to a better position in a few years. The bank paid Sweetie a decent wage, but as she did since she first worked in the confectionary store when she turned thirteen, she gave her paycheck to her father, who provided her a four-dollar-a-month allowance. Everything cost so much more these days, so she tried to budget her available cash. The price of admission to the State Theater for a Saturday night movie recently increased to fifteen cents. Bobby earned decent money by working his two jobs, so he treated her to Cokes when they were hanging out together, and to popcorn and mints when they went to a movie together.

Now wide awake and no longer experiencing nausea, she was ready for the weekend. It was Saturday, a day off work. Although hungry, she skipped breakfast at home. She knew Bobby brewed coffee as soon as he started work, and Mrs. Burdette brought biscuits with preserves to the shop every Saturday. She donned a pair of her brother Billy's Levi's, even though Grandma fussed when she caught Sweetie wearing pants. Sweetie rode Billy's bike today; Billy's old bike was sturdier than her "girls' bike." She chose the stronger bike, since she would have to pedal to the airport if she did not find Bobby at Burdette's this morning. The airport was north of town and only accessible over a two-mile, bumpy gravel road.

As she was leaving, Mrs. Browning came out of her house next door to sweep the sidewalk, so Sweetie stopped to chat. "Paul will be coming home next week," Mrs. Browning told her. "He's finishing his exams at Centenary. I lined up a summer job for him at the medical clinic on Northside. I'm so proud of him."

"We're all proud of Paul, Mrs. Browning, and so happy he's coming home. Why don't we plan a picnic on the Fourth of July, with watermelons and some homemade peach ice cream? Harry will be home for the summer... working at the paper mill, but the mill will shut down on the Fourth, and everybody can get together."

"Oh, Sweetie, it'll be so nice for the five of you to have fun together like in high school! Can you come inside for a few minutes? I have coffee made, and fresh biscuits with fig preserves."

Sweetie considered for a moment, and realizing she would arrive at Burdette's before Bobby, she accepted Mrs. Browning's offer. They climbed the steps to the small front porch. The Browning's home was a shotgun style similar to the Stephenson's, but much smaller. The front porch lacked a screen. A wooden rocking chair sat to one side of the porch, and a swing hung from the ceiling on the other side.

The two women entered the sitting room; and although Mrs. Browning kept her home spotless, the room still emitted a musty smell. A large rug dominated the center of the room, and two mismatched overstuffed fabric chairs and a love seat with a colorful crocheted throw over the back comprised the only furniture. In the corner near the front window, a large console Philco radio sat, which the five of them had listened to often. Sweetie's house did not have a radio; her dad and Grandma considered radio a corrupting influence on the young. The Browning house was one of the favorite gathering places for the five friends for many years.

Sweetie took her coffee with a teaspoon of sugar and a dab of cream, and enjoyed two biscuits with preserves. They engaged in small talk for a while, until Sweetie realized the time, knowing she must pedal over two miles to arrive at Burdette's Garage before seven, so she told Mrs. Browning farewell.

The route to Burdette's took her over a half-mile-long wooden footbridge across Boga Lusa Creek; there she felt bumps from the inch-and-a-half gaps between the planks. Although she was used to the bumpiness, having to pedal across the bridge as she did every day to her job on the Northside, she wondered if the bumps might be harmful to her baby. She decided from now on, she should either walk to work, or pay the nickel for the bus ride instead of riding her bike. Taking the bus was an idea she dismissed; the dime-a-day bus fare out of her allowance would be a huge strain on her budget.

She continued up the Austin Street hill in front of the library, and on to Louisiana Avenue, where Burdette's Service Station and Garage was situated. It was now past seven a.m., but Bobby was not at work. She assumed he must be at the airport; but before undertaking the bike ride over a few miles of gravel highway, she pedaled to the Glass residence a few blocks away on Louisiana Avenue, near the new high school, to visit with Mrs. Glass and find out when they expected Harry to arrive home from college.

The Glass family was one of the richest in Bogalusa, indeed, in all of southeast Louisiana. Mr. Glass was a prominent attorney, enjoying many political connections both at the state and Federal government levels. Among his many other businesses, he owned the local Ford dealership. His wife, nee Ola Anderson, was the scion of a wealthy Savannah family, having met Donald Glass while a student at Agnes Scott College in Atlanta before the Great War. Sweetie always enjoyed a special relationship with both Donald and Ola Glass.

Most times when she visited the Glass residence, she walked in without sounding the door chimes; but considering the early morning hour, she pushed the button by the door, and listen to the chimes play a familiar little melody. A sleepy-eyed Harry himself surprised her when he answered the door. They shook each other's hand, as was customary among their group. The friends never exchanged hugs or kisses on the cheek.

Sweetie spoke first. "Harry, we weren't expecting you to be home for another week. It's good to see you, though."

"Yeah, I returned home from school early."

"Don't you have to sit for final exams beginning on Monday?"

"I'm not going to take my finals. My grades in every course were Ds and Fs, so what was the use? I'm not going back to Tech."

"But Harry, you're too smart for those kinds of grades! What happened?"

"I partied too hard, drank too much booze at the frat house, and cut too many classes. I lost interest in school." Harry's grades his first three semesters would not earn him any honors, but were at least passing.

"What are you going to do?"

"Come on inside, and we can talk about it."

She followed him into the entrance room. The Glass family lived in a large, brick three-story house many townspeople called a mansion. They walked through the entrance foyer, through the parlor and dining room, to the kitchen, and sat down at the kitchen table. Melba, the family's long-time maid and Harry's nanny while growing up, brought them each a cup of coffee. She offered Sweetie breakfast, but Sweetie declined, explaining she had eaten already with Mrs. Browning.

Melba, now in her early 50s, worked for the Glass family for over 25 years. Her fine, coiffured brown hair was showing a few strands of gray. She stood tall, being five feet eight inches, and was light complexioned; many people, Colored and white alike, referred to her as a "high yellow." In Paris or New York, she might have been a fashion model; but in rural Louisiana in the 1930s, little work was available for her other than a career as a domestic for a wealthy white family.

Harry was handsome; tall and fair-skinned with curly, sandy hair. He was popular with everyone he encountered, and his classmates selected him "Most Popular" his senior year in high school. He and Sweetie were cheerleaders together for three years of high school. He dated no one steadily, but went out with as many of the attractive girls in Bogalusa and the surrounding area as he could find.

Sweetie sensed he did not want to talk, but after some prodding, he explained, "Dad enrolled me in welding class at the trade school this summer and fall, and when I finished the course in February, Dad's cousin in New Orleans will find me work as a welding apprentice. He says hard work will make me appreciate the value of an education." He did not look Sweetie in the eye as he spoke.

She changed the subject. "I visited with Mrs. Browning this morning. Paul finishes his semester exams at Centenary next week, and he'll be home a few days later. We'll all be back together again!"

"That's great! I look forward to seeing everybody again. Let's surprise Bobby at Burdette's..."

"Nah, when I rode past the shop a few minutes ago, he wasn't there. He must be at the airport."

"We can drive my car over. I sent Bobby a penny postcard last week asking him to get it ready. I checked last night after I got home, and he did a great job. It's ready to go; Bobby charged the battery, inflated the tires, gave it a good wash, and waxed it."

They climbed into his spotless cream-colored car to make the trip to the airport. It was a 1935 Ford V8 Rumble Seat Roadster; the five friends spent a lot of time in this car since Harry received it brand-new as his sixteenth birthday present. Although still early in the day, the air was getting warm, and the breeze through the open top cooled Sweetie.

Harry parked next to Bobby's red 1934 Indian Model 402 motorcycle near the hanger. They did not see him in the shop area, so they asked a mechanic working on a plane just inside the door where they might find him.

"He took off in Smoke Yates' Jenny a few minutes ago." The man shaded his eyes and gazed to the sky, pointing towards a swiftly-moving object. "There he is."

Sweetie and Harry observed a yellow biplane pulling a few stunts high over the airport. The plane climbed almost vertically, stalled, and spun out; the pilot pulled out of the stall with an adequate safety margin. Many of the local airplane owners allowed Bobby to fly their planes, as long as he kept them serviced. Sweetie flew with Bobby a few times in the second seat Smoke installed in the Jenny – she found it thrilling and appreciated Bobby's love of flying.

Bobby spotted Harry's roadster. He flew low over the hanger, waved the wing, climbed, and did a barrel roll. He buzzed the hanger twice more, and finally bringing the biplane in for a perfect landing. He taxied to the parking tarmac, killed the engine, pulled himself from the cockpit, and chocked the tires. Bobby spotted Harry and Sweetie and trotted over to them; he and Harry grasped each other's forearms, the closest any of the five ever came to a hug.

"Harry, it's swell to see you. Boy, have we missed you!"

Bobby looked at Sweetie, and gave her a soft tap on the upper arm. "How ya doin', kid? I haven't seen you in a while," attempting a Bogart imitation – very poorly. She could not mention her pregnancy until they were alone, but she could think of nothing else to say to Bobby in front of Harry. She managed a weak hello. Bobby continued, "Let's go into the shade and drink a Coke. I got some news for y'all."

They walked into the shop section of the hanger, where a large fan blew air into the area to keep the temperature bearable. The entire hanger reeked of grease and exhaust fumes, but the two guys did not notice. Sweetie became nauseous from the smell, but after she took a deep breath, it passed. Harry put a nickel in the coke machine and pulled his drink from the slot. He checked the bottom of the bottle and announced, "Baton Rouge." Bobby inserted a nickel into the machine, pulled a coke out of the slot, handed it to Sweetie, and then bought one for himself. Sweetie's bottle showed it to be from Tupelo, Mississippi. Bobby said his bottle was from Bogalusa. Thus, Sweetie won their traditional long-distance bottle contest, so Bobby and Harry each paid her a nickel. Bobby took two drinks from his cold coke, opened a bag of salted peanuts and poured them into his coke.

Harry showed his impatience. "What's this news you have, Bobby?"

"You will not believe this... I got myself an aviation job... in Argentina!"

"What? How? Tell us!"

"The president of Argentina is building up the country's air force, so he sent agents around the United States buying surplus aircraft used in the Great War for training their pilots. They purchased Smoke's Jenny and several others across Louisiana and Texas which were modified to accommodate a second person. The agent, José O'Higgins – yea, an Argentine with an Irish name – but he and I inspected the plane; he went up with me in the second seat while I put it through a few stunts. I related to him the history and performance of Smoke's plane. José spoke decent English, but I mostly spoke with him in the Spanish I remembered from high school.

"They want someone familiar with the planes and the radial engines to check out the planes when they get them to Argentina. My mechanical skills with the plane's airframe and engine, and my flying ability, not to mention my fluency in Spanish, impressed José. He hired me on the spot."

He took a swig of his salty Coke. "I'll fly the plane to New Orleans day after tomorrow. A couple of aircraft mechanics in New Orleans and I will partially disassemble the Jenny and the other planes they bought. Longshoremen will load the pieces onto a freighter bound for Argentina. I'll ride the freighter with the planes and oversee the reassembly in Buenos Aires. How's that for a sweet job?"

Sweetie heard nothing else Bobby said; her heart sank, and she held back tears. As soon as she realized she might be pregnant, she knew Bobby would marry her to assure the baby grew up with a name. But now she knew she could not force Bobby into marriage. He dreamed of things he wanted to do in life; since the sixth grade, he talked about flying; and about his plans to travel around the world, to visit the pyramids, to ride a camel and an elephant, to see kangaroos in Australia, and so much more. Beginning in the sixth grade he kept a scrapbook of the places he intended to visit.

None of the other four ever spoke of the future. Sweetie assumed she would one day be a teacher, but she knew not she would never realize her dreams. Paul's mother pushed him from early childhood to become a doctor like his older brother and uncle, but Paul never expressed enthusiasm about a future as a physician. Harry never revealed ambition of any kind. He assumed he would become a paper mill engineer; now he seemed content with the prospect of a welding career. Vonciel seemed to have only a goal of earning a college degree; her friends believed her plans were to marry Paul and raise a family.

Sweetie needed to be alone to think. Bobby was still discussing his upcoming adventure, so he interrupted them. "Bobby, Harry, I think I'm sick. I might be coming down with a summer cold."

Harry answered, "Sweetie, do you want me to drive you home?"

"No, Grandma will be there. I need to find somewhere quiet. Drive me to the library. I'll come by your house later and pick up my bike when I'm feeling better."

Bobby walked them to the car. Bobby tapped Sweetie on the shoulder again and said, "Take care of yourself. We should talk before I leave for New Orleans."

Neither realized in those bucolic days that the next time they encountered each other, both they and the world in which they grew up would be different in so many ways.

Many children frequented the library on Saturday mornings for the weekly book readings. Sweetie did not see the bad-tempered Miss Maggie in the main area. A few weeks earlier, she told Sweetie to never again come into the library wearing jeans. Sweetie looked around to make certain no one in authority could see her. Spotting no one, she walked into the adult reading room, picked up a two-month-old copy of Life magazine, sat in a desk off in the corner and pretended to read the articles.

She wondered if there was anybody she could talk with about her predicament. Her mother deserted her and Billy to run off to California with a shoe salesman when Sweetie was only four years old. If she revealed her condition to her grandmother, she would face a barrage of name-calling and sermonizing, but no sympathy and no help.

Sweetie was under no illusions as to what will happen when her dad learned of her condition. She would get no sympathy or support, and without a doubt, her dad would kick her out of the house. Also, she would lose her job at the bank.

Vonciel and Sweetie were close, being the only female members of the group, but Sweetie decided she could not burden her friend with this problem.

Bobby would marry her right away if she told him of her condition, but she did not want to pursue that choice. She would not spoil Bobby's dreams even before he had the opportunity to live them.

She weighed other options. Paul might have some ideas if she told him of her situation. He might even marry her; he was that good a friend.

She considered telling Harry of her condition. He might offer to help, but she could not conceive of what form such help would take. Harry would never marry her solely to give a name to someone else's baby. Besides, if she told him the truth of her plight, he would not keep her secret from Bobby – and his telling Bobby about the baby would bring her back into the situation she wanted to avoid.

A girl Sweetie knew from high school, a few years older than she, became pregnant and went somewhere "up north" to deliver her baby. After which, she gave the baby up for adoption. Sweetie could not do that. She never thought of herself as a mother, but now, as she faced such reality, she knew there was no way she could give up her baby.

She heard rumors of women going to Mexico to end their pregnancies, although she did not personally know of anyone who had done so. She would not even consider doing something so terrible. How could a mother do that to a tiny baby in her womb? she thought.

She immediately concluded the only viable alternative was to handle this matter herself.

She was deep in thought when a hand grabbed her shoulder. She knew without looking it was Miss Maggie. "Miss Mildred Stephenson, I have told you more than once that you cannot come into our library wearing pants! If you choose not to follow the dress code for women as are set out so clearly in the library rules, you are not welcome here. I will call your father and report this incident. Now you leave the library at once, young lady!"

As she walked the six blocks from the library to Harry's house to retrieve Billy's bike, Sweetie continued turning things over in her mind. She knew of two local women who bore illegitimate children. The so-called good people of the community considered these women tramps and whores, and labelled their children, bastards. Both of whom suffered teasing and bullying at school.

She figured her only option was to move away to have this baby; but where, she wondered, and how could she pay for such a move?

When she approached Harry's house, she observed his car in the garage. She knocked once on the door and walked into the house as was her custom, calling out for Harry. He came down the stairs and met her in the entrance hall. "Sweetie, are you feeling better?"

She smiled. "Yes, I guess it was indigestion. I took a wintergreen, and I'm feeling much better now." She then added, "It's such a pretty day. Why don't we go on a picnic to celebrate you being home? The noon whistle at the paper mill just sounded a few minutes ago, and I'm getting hungry."

"That's a swell idea. Melba can fix each of us a baloney sandwich."

The thought of a baloney sandwich caused Sweetie to feel queasy, but she did not let it show. "I prefer a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, if that's all right... And could we bring two beers apiece?"

"I have something better than beer. Mom and Dad brought home some real Cuban rum from their trip to Havana last month. I'll bring a bottle and two Cokes and put ice cubes in the bucket with a towel over it, and we can fix Cuba Libres. Melba bought some limes on her last trip to the A&P–we can bring those, too."

They took Harry's roadster north on the well-maintained, but lightly traveled, gravel State Highway 7, until they reached a spot about a mile south of the small community of Varnado, there Harry turned west onto a parish dirt road and drove four miles further until the road ended. Walking a few hundred yards along a footpath, they came upon a sandy beach on a secluded bend of Pushepatapa Creek–another swimming hole the five friends frequented during summer vacations from high school. As expected, they found this secluded beach deserted. On Sundays, the area would teem with picnickers and even Negro congregations having baptismal ceremonies, but Saturdays were work days for most people in this area, not a day for picnics.

They spread their table cloth on a level, grassy area a few feet above the sandy beach. Each lit a Viceroy filter-tip cigarette, which Harry smoked since high school. He mixed the Cuba Libres in the metal cups Melba packed in their picnic basket, and cooled them with ice which had not melted during their drive. After finishing two strong drinks apiece and two more cigarettes, they waded into the cold-water creek. Sweetie splashed water on Harry, and he retaliated. Sweetie suggested, "Why don't we skinny dip? That's something you haven't done in a long time."

Two years earlier, during their senior year in high school, the five friends enjoyed a January first night swim in Coleman's Lake, with a large fire blazing on the shore. After a brief plunge in the frigid waters of the gravel pit lake, they warmed up in towels and blankets by the fire. As they warmed themselves, the boys dared each other to skinny dip. In the darkness by the water's edge, the three boys shed their trunks and dived back into the cold water. Sweetie and Vonciel stayed by the fire, shivering although wrapped in blankets, while pretending to look away.

Harry immediately said he liked her idea. They turned their backs to each other, stripped, and waded into waist-deep water. Sweetie sat on the sandy creek bottom while Harry swam a few strokes in the deeper portion of the creek. They remained several feet apart, splashing water on each other; then Sweetie stood up, grabbed Harry from behind, and held tight to him. He twisted around, and his erect penis pressed against her thigh. They kissed. She reached down and grasped his member. "I've never held a man's peter before... it's so hard," she murmured. They kissed more; their tongues met, and Harry rubbed her breast.

She whispered, "Let's do it."

She worried sexual intercourse might harm her baby, but it was a chance she was willing to take.

They walked together to the tablecloth, and helped each other dry off. Sweetie covered herself with a towel, while Harry started to step into his pants. He kissed her lightly on the lips and said, "I have something in the car we should use; I'll be right back."

"No, I want to feel the real you in me!."

"Okay, but I'll pull it out before it squirts, okay?"

"That'll be fine. Let's do it."

During his senior year in high school, Harry became sexually active, and continued for the two years he was in college in Atlanta. He knew foreplay was important for a good sexual experience, so he kissed her breasts and gently rubbed her labia, and then her clitoris, until she was wet. He entered her with some gentleness. It took only a few seconds once he made penetration, just two or three thrusts, and Harry exclaimed, almost in a shout, "It's about to come!" Sweetie locked her legs around him and hugged him tightly, keeping him inside her. She thought she could sense his ejaculation.

Harry withdrew from her, dripping semen onto the tablecloth. "Oh no!" he said, a little worriedly. "I didn't mean to do that. We should have used a rubber."

Sweetie said with authority, "We don't need to worry. I was a virgin; you can't get pregnant your first time."

Sweetie called in sick at the bank. Paul was due home at about noon, and she planned to wait at his house to meet him. Riding Greyhound from Shreveport to Bogalusa required an overnight leg from Shreveport to New Orleans, and then a transfer to a different coach for the leg to Bogalusa. He was scheduled to arrive home at 11:00 o'clock in the morning. After arriving at the Greyhound station on the Northside, he would catch a city bus from the Northside Greyhound terminal to a bus stop two blocks from his home.

At 10:30 a.m. she walked from her house to the Browning's house next door, and sat in the swing on the front porch, waiting. Mrs. Browning sat with her part of the time, but for most of the morning, Paul's mother tended to her usual chores. Every so often Sweetie could see Grandma glance over, but she pretended not to notice. While waiting by herself, Sweetie used the time to think. She knew Harry visited with Bobby before he left for his job in South America; and it was almost certain, Harry bragged to Bobby about how he "got Sweetie's cherry." He bragged of all his sexual conquests. Bobby would not tell him otherwise; he was too much a man to talk about her.

She was so deep in thought she almost missed seeing Paul walking up the street. She looked that direction and realized he was only a half block from home. She jumped from the porch and ran to meet him. She embraced him, causing him to drop his heavy suitcase. Her greeting surprised him, and at first, he seemed uncomfortable with the physical embrace; but he soon recovered and returned her enthusiastic hug.

Paul was shorter than Harry, Paul and Sweetie, but was the oldest of the five friends by almost a full year. He was sickly as a child, and did not start first grade until he was seven years old. Paul was not handsome, like both Bobby and Harry; rather, everybody judged him plain-looking. He was underweight. A good student throughout high school, he finished two places below Sweetie at graduation. Although not outgoing, he was not shy. He always found a date for social functions, most of the time with Vonciel; but if she was away at school, he would not hesitate to ask someone else out.

Sweetie cried as she hugged him. She had not cried since infancy.

"Sweetie, don't cry. It's good to see you, too. It'll be like old times again, the five of us together."

She almost blurted out her secret, but stifled the impulse. Instead, she wiped away tears and said, "No it won't. Bobby left for a job in South America a few days ago, and Ciel hasn't finished her exams at Newcombe. It'll just be the three of us for a few days."

"That's great news about Bobby," Paul said with a light-hearted laugh. "He'll make his around-the-world trip and see everything in his scrapbook before the rest of us accomplish anything. We better say hello to Mom..."

He paused, and Sweetie could sense something troubling him. He continued, "I have to tell her I don't plan to return to college in the fall. I don't want to be a doctor. That's always been her plan, not mine."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"Well... with my two years of pre-med, I can apprentice with a pharmacist and get licensed. I wrote to Vonciel's father last month, and he's agreed to hire me as his assistant. I hope someday to own a drugstore."

Sweetie, Paul, and Harry went to the State Theater the following Saturday night to watch The Hurricane, starring Dorothy Lamour. Sweetie spent fifteen cents of her meager funds for a ticket, and used the nickel she won from Harry and Bobby on the Coke bottle bet for a bag of popcorn. Paul shared his mints with her. Harry made several innuendos hinting at what transpired between them the week before, but she was uncertain whether he already bragged to Paul about their activities.

The next two weeks dragged on forever in Sweetie's mind. For the second Friday in the past three, she called in sick. This time, Mrs. Austin told her they no longer needed someone who took so much time off, and she could pick up her final paycheck at the bank at the end of the month. Although she hated her job at the bank, Sweetie burst into tears as she hung up. "What's the matter with me?" she asked herself out loud. "I've never cried like this in my life!"

She placed another one of her nickels in the call box her dad kept beside the phone. The local telephone company did not charge customers by the call in over 25 years, but her dad insisted she pay for each call she made; he said the telephone company still kept records of each call, and claimed he checked those records from time to time. Sweetie did not believe him, but was not going to take the chance he was right. It was necessary to make the call now; Dad left the house earlier, and Grandma was in the bathroom. The operator came on the line and asked, "Number please."

Sweetie told her "2-1-1." The line rang about ten times, and just as she decided to hang up, Melba answered, "Glass residence".

"Hi Melba, this is Sweetie. Can I speak with Harry, please?"

"Hi, Miss Sweetie. Harry is sleeping–he was out late last night. Do you want me to have him call you when he wakes up?"

She hesitated before saying, "No. Could you please wake him up for me? This is really important."

She heard Melba walking up the stairs to Harry's room, and stayed on the line for over five minutes before a sleepy-sounding Harry came on the line. "Hi, Sweetie, what's so important?"

"Harry, I'm late."

"Late for what?"

"For my monthly curse."

"Sweetie, I don't understand. Why are you telling me this?"

"Harry... we're going to have a baby."

Harry said nothing for a few seconds, but to Sweetie, the silence seemed to last forever. Finally, he spoke. "You told me this couldn't happen on the first time."

"I guess I was wrong. I'm sorry, Harry."

"This baby might not even be mine," he said, almost hesitantly.

Mustering a tone of outrage, she snapped, "There's been no one else, either before or since we did it by the creek! By now, you've bragged to everyone in town who would listen to you about what we did! Now you have to own up to your responsibilities!"

He sighed. "What do you want to do?"

"We'll get married. We'll give this child a name."

"... This is too much to talk about over the phone. I'll come by and pick you up in an hour."

"Just make sure you have enough gasoline to make the trip to Poplarville and back. We're getting married today, and there's no three-day wait there!" She heard Grandma flush the toilet and run water into the basin. Sweetie ended the conversation, again in an angry voice. "I'll wait for you at Paul's house. You be here in an hour!"

She washed and set her hair the night before, and now spent a few minutes in front of the mirror getting just the look she wanted. Her hair was now much longer than when she hired on at the bank two years earlier. She put on the blue-and-white gingham dress she had not worn in over a year; it was somewhat tight, but still fit. She wore this dress every Sunday when she attended services at the Presbyterian Church with Paul and his mother, but she had not been to church since high school. She also donned white socks and black patent leather shoes with a strap-over. She viewed herself in the full-length mirror in Grandma's room; she was satisfied she looked dressy enough for a small wedding ceremony at a Justice of the Peace chapel.

Most people thought Sweetie was gorgeous, but despite being runner-up as "Most Beautiful" in her senior year, she never considered herself a beauty. Today, however, she believed her appearance was important.

She walked next door and asked Paul to sit with her on his porch swing and talk. He complimented her appearance, and asked why she was wearing her "Sunday go-to meeting" dress. She could not look him in the eye, but gazed straight ahead as she recounted the events with Harry over the past few weeks, omitting reference to her earlier lapse of judgment with Bobby. Paul said nothing.

As she finished her narrative, Harry arrived, got out of the car, and walked up to Paul's porch. He was wearing dirty blue jeans, a faded denim shirt, and dirty Keds; not suitable attire even for a wedding by a JP. Harry suggested they go talk in private. Sweetie said no – she said Paul knew everything.

"Fine, Doc, you can come with us." Paul hated the moniker "Doc," and Harry was the only one in the group who continued to so call him. Harry drove to a gravel pit pond a mile east of the city. It was an area where high school boys with cars took dates to "make out" at night, but there were no other cars parked there at this time of day. They walked to a log overlooking the pond, and sat. Harry broke the silence.

"Why should I believe this baby is even mine?" he asked flatly.

Paul took umbrage at that statement. "Dammit, Harry!" That was as strong language as anyone of the five ever used in front of each other. "You bragged to me and to everyone in town about what you did, so now you can't deny the consequences. Sweetie, this baby has to have a name. I'll marry you. Today."

Sweetie began to cry. "What is the matter with me?" she sobbed. "I've been crying so much these last two weeks. Paul... your mother wouldn't approve; she's already disappointed over your decision not to become a doctor."

Paul looked as if he had something else to say, but Harry interrupted, "No, Sweetie, it's my baby, and I'll do the right thing. This baby will bear my name... Sweetie, I never asked you out since Bobby is my best friend... but... but, Bobby is no longer here... and Sweetie... I love you... I always have loved you... but..."

She hugged him and she said she loved him too, although, truthfully she did not feel any romantic attachment to him and never had. Harry seemed embarrassed by her display, and kept his arms by his side while she was gripping him; but at last he returned the embrace. When Sweetie released him, Paul shook his hand and congratulated him for doing the honorable thing.

Harry changed clothes at home. The three drove to Poplarville, where, after obtaining a marriage license at the county courthouse, a Justice of the Peace married the couple with Paul serving as the witness.

Chapter 2

Bogalusa, Louisiana

September 10, 1938

Sweetie considered Ola Glass the mother she missed as she grew into womanhood. Similarly, Mrs. Glass, knowing Sweetie since early childhood, treated Sweetie as a daughter. When Sweetie and Harry told Mr. and Mrs. Glass about their elopement and marriage, they encountered instant hostility – until they confessed Sweetie was in a "family way."

Mrs. Glass took Sweetie aside for a woman-to-woman exchange. Ola confessed she was carrying Harold when she and Mr. Glass exchanged vows in a large church wedding in Savannah, Georgia attended by hundreds of guests. Sweetie recalls Ola's words: "You young people think you're the first generation to honeymoon before the wedding. Let me tell you... Donald mustered out of the Navy in early 1919 and we set our wedding for June. His Navy white uniform dazzled me, and he thought I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, so we just could not wait. We gave into temptation, and I was almost showing as I walked down the aisle in my white wedding dress before all of those guests." They laughed together and hugged.

Sweetie's father and Grandma were not so understanding. When she and Harry gave the news of their marriage to her dad, he told her never to enter his house again. He stuffed her belongings in several paper sacks and left them on the front porch for her to pick up the next day. She had neither seen nor spoken with her father or grandmother since that day.

The Glasses arranged Harry's second floor room to temporarily accommodate the newlyweds. Knowing it would be chore for Sweetie to climb the steep stairs as her pregnancy progressed, they remodeled a downstairs guest suite for the couple. Mrs. Glass accompanied Sweetie to Goldman's on Columbia Road to update her wardrobe, which included several dresses expandable as Sweetie got further into her pregnancy.

Buenos Aries, Argentina

October 17, 1938

Dear Sweetie, Vonciel, Harry, and Paul,

I'm sorry for the delay in writing to you, but I only recently received Sweetie's June 29th postcard. I am at a military base in Cordoba province and only a few days ago received mail. Congratulations to Sweetie and Harry, or should I say Mr. and Mrs. Harold Glass? I wish I was there to kiss the blushing bride and congratulate the groom, but that will have to wait until I return home. I know the two of you will enjoy your lives together.

It's exciting to work and live here. I trained several Argentine mechanics on details of the radial engines in the airplanes the agents bought in America, and I taught several Argentine pilots to fly these Jennies. Under my tutelage, a few of the pilots became good at acrobatics in these planes. I now speak Spanish like a native. Sweetie thanks much for encouraging me to take the Spanish courses in high school. It helped me master the language here.

I have great news to tell. By the time you receive this letter, I will be on an ocean liner traveling to Germany (or maybe I will already there if this letter gets delayed). A delegation of politicians, businessmen, and generals will meet with German industrial and military leaders in Berlin. They hope Germany will supply Argentina with modern fighter airplanes. Based upon correspondence between the two countries, the Argentine delegation expects the planes the Germans make available will be some that flew missions in the Spanish Civil War (remember Mr. Hoskins talking about that war in tenth grade geography?)

At José's insistence, the Argentine delegation invited me on this trip to inspect the mechanical condition of the German aircraft. Although I am not a member of the Argentine Air Force, I will wear the uniform of an Argentine Air Force pilot.

One Argentine general I met at meetings where we discussed the agenda for the visit to Germany tells me there will be another war in Europe in the next few years, and the Germans hope Argentina will ally with Germany. The general tells me he does not foresee America getting involved in another European conflict. But if my country has to go to war again, I will be the first to volunteer to fight.

That is all for now. Please write soon. I miss all of you.

Your Friend,

Bobby Howe

Thanks to the new international airmail service, Sweetie received Bobby's letter less than a week after he posted it in Buenos Aires. She reread it several times. She wrote Bobby in late June to tell him the news of her and Harry getting married, but this was the first letter she received from him since he left Bogalusa. She was excited. She called Paul at his job with Mr. York at Town Drug Store and read him the letter. Harry was in his welding class at trade school, but viewed the letter when he arrived home that evening. She found Mrs. Glass and Melba on the backporch shelling peas, and showed them the letter. Mr. Glass went over it that evening. They shared her excitement; all were fond of Bobby.

A few days after Sweetie received Bobby's letter, she and Mrs. Glass walked three blocks to Dr. Leonard Hagood's clinic on Louisiana Avenue for a prenatal examination. Sweetie and Dr. Hagood's daughter, Joyce, who finished high school with Sweetie, were friends. Dr. Hagood knew and looked after Sweetie since she was an infant. She felt embarrassed to lie naked, covered only by a thin sheet, with her feet in the stirrups as the doctor examined her. Mrs. Glass's presence in the examining room calmed her. Ola, in her stylish suit and hat, sat in a corner smoking a cigarette in a three-inch filtered holder, and did not speak while the doctor examined her daughter-in-law.

Sweetie considered her mother-in-law the most sophisticated and elegant woman she ever encountered, and vowed to become more like her. During the examination, Dr. Hagood asked Sweetie the date of her last menstrual period. Sweetie lied, saying it was mid-May rather than mid-April. She could tell from Dr. Hagood's expression he was skeptical, but he said nothing. He completed his examination, and Sweetie dressed behind the screen. He sat in his desk chair and lit a cigarette, waiting for Sweetie to finish dressing and to sit by Mrs. Glass. Looking over his eyeglasses at Mrs. Glass rather than at Sweetie, he said, "Your daughter-in-law is healthy and should encounter no trouble with a natural delivery. When she goes into labor, call me, and I will be available to help if Melba has any problems... Now, based upon my examination and considering Sweetie's excellent condition, it won't surprise me if this baby makes an early appearance–a month or even two premature. But I believe we can expect a healthy child."

She was uncomfortable to ask the doctor in front of her mother-in-law, but this was something she needed to know. "Doctor, can my husband and I continue to engage in sex while I'm pregnant?"

Dr. Hagood assured her there would be no problems for either her or the baby if they continued having sex, but suggested it might become uncomfortable near the due date.

Bogalusa, Louisiana U.S.A.

November 22, 1938

Dear Bobby,

Your letter was so much fun to read. Everyone enjoyed reading of your adventures. Please tell us more about what you are doing in Germany. The MovieTone News we watched at the State Theater last week said Germany is preparing for war. We hope you are safe and get back home before war breaks out.

Now for our big news: Harry and I are expecting our first child. We are both so happy. Harry is a good husband and I know he will make a swell father. We picked a name for the baby if a boy–Thomas, after Harry's grandfather. We have not picked a name for a girl. Everyone says it will be a boy. Harry continues his welding class in trade school and expects to begin his apprenticeship in New Orleans early next year. He says the shipyard in New Orleans promised to hire him as soon as he gets his union card. We plan to move to New Orleans after I deliver the baby and he starts his job.

Paul and Ciel have a crush on one another; maybe more than a crush. Since he has been working for her dad they date as often as possible. Harry and I go to the movies with them. They are not engaged or even going steady yet, but I expect they will get hitched before too long.

Paul enlisted in the National Guard, and at twenty years old, he is one of the older enlisted men! Most of the veterans from The Great War are no longer in the Guard and so many things are different at the armory. There are many young men in the Guard; it seems like the entire company consists of sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds. The local armory no longer allows the public to ride the cavalry horses, so having access to the horses was a big incentive for Paul to join. He takes Vonciel riding (he would take me too, but I cannot ride horses in my present condition). Paul is a corporal, but after he completes four weeks of National Guard officer training this summer in Georgia, the National Guard will commission him a second lieutenant. His two years of ROTC at Centenary College and his experience with horses over the years were factors in him being offered a commission. In his position as an officer in the National Guard, he will earn enough money such when combined with the wages he earns working for Mr. York that maybe they will feel secure enough to get married.

Thanksgiving is two days away. Melba and Ola are in the kitchen dressing a big turkey they picked out at Mr. Lee's farm. Mr. and Mrs. York, Paul's mother, and Paul and Vonciel will join us for Thanksgiving dinner at the Glass's. We wish you could be here.

That is all I can think of to tell you right now. I will seal this letter but hold it until we get your new mailing address.

Your good friend,

Sweetie

Berlin, Germany

January 5, 1939

Dear Sweetie, Harry, Paul, and Vonciel,

I am sorry I have not been more diligent in writing, but our delegation to Germany has been extremely busy.

Germany, in what they said was "a token of friendship," granted Argentina two surplus fighter planes manufactured by Messerschmitt called Bf-109s. The two planes saw service in the Spanish Civil War, but I checked them out down to the nuts and bolts and both are in excellent shape. During my inspection, I flew each of them; these are perhaps the most modern fighter planes in the world and I could not believe I was at the controls. I hope America does not go to war with Germany; I do not believe our Army Air Corps has any planes which can match the performance of the Bf-109. I will fly one plane to Hamburg (a German pilot will fly the other) where crews will partially disassemble the two planes and load the parts on a freighter for shipment back to Argentina next month. I will watch the disassembly and then oversee the reassembly and check them out when we get back to B.A.

I met the head of the German air force, called the "Luftwaffe." He is a rotund man; the Germans tell me he was a fighter ace in the Great War, but he would not fit into the cockpit of a fighter today (ha, ha). Our delegation spent Christmas at his fabulous country estate north of Berlin called Carinhall, which overlooks a beautiful lake and thousands of acres of land. There was at least a foot of snow on the ground; I tried skiing, but I must admit I wasn't very good at the sport. Christmas dinner was in a large banquet hall; there were at least two hundred guests. They served goose and venison and we drank a lot of German beer. It was difficult to get out of bed the next morning.

I hope the four of you are doing well and enjoyed a merry Christmas. This is the first Christmas the five of us did not spend together.

I miss you guys.

Your friend,

Bobby Howe

Sweetie received Bobby's letter in late January 1939. She called Paul and read it to him. They were both excited that Bobby was visiting places he often talked about. She found Melba hanging clothes on the line to dry, and read her the letter. Ola was off shopping, but Sweetie read her the letter as soon as she came home.

Sweetie and Harry enjoyed life together as young newlyweds. Early in their marriage, they enjoyed a fantastic sex life and a great social life. Many nights they dined at the country club where everyone, including most of the younger married women, knew Harry. They took overnight trips to New Orleans and stayed at luxury hotels; attended shows, and dined at restaurants Sweetie only dreamed of before marrying Harry. She often traveled with her mother-in-law on the Rebel streamliner train to New Orleans, where they shopped for clothes together and ate at other fine dining establishments. An exclusive uptown salon where Ola kept a standing appointment did her hair. The only negative came as Sweetie's pregnancy began to show. Harry lost interest in sex with her, but continued to take her places to show off his elegant wife in the stylish maternity wardrobes she and Ola picked out.

By January, Sweetie was over eight months pregnant, but she gained very little weight and did not look like she was so far into her pregnancy. The gossip mongers in town believed she and Harry entered a "shotgun wedding," but there was no speculation the baby she was carrying was anyone's other than Harry's.

Thomas Glass came into this world on February 2, 1939, weighing five and one-half pounds. Sweetie smoked a pack of cigarettes day during her pregnancy. Later research demonstrated a connection between cigarette smoking during pregnancy and low birth weight, but at the time of Tommy's birth, everyone assumed his low weight resulted from premature delivery. Sweetie was relieved no one raised questions regarding his conception.

Sweetie called her father to tell him about the baby, but he hung up as soon as he realized she was on the line. The weekly Bogalusa Bulletin announced the birth on the front page, so he no doubt knew of the birth of his grandson. She sent a penny postcard to her older brother, Billy, in care of General Delivery, Bakersfield, California to tell him he was now an uncle. She had had no contact with him in over two years, and that being last address she had for him.

Sweetie waited over two months after Tommy's birth to write Bobby about the baby and lied about his date of delivery.

Bogalusa, Louisiana U.S.A.

April 17, 1939

Dear Bobby,

Harry and I must tell you the exciting news. I delivered Thomas on April 2nd. He is a beautiful healthy baby. He looks so much like Harry who is a wonderful father. He constantly talks to Tommy when he is home from New Orleans. Harry's father made Kodaks of me, Harry, and Tommy. I will send you one with my next letter.

Harry completed his welding courses at the trade school, and is now in apprenticeship in the City. He says the Navy has ordered a lot of new ships, and the shipyard stays busy fulfilling the orders. He can work as many hours as he wants. As soon as he gets his union card, he will make much more money.

Paul and Vonciel are still an item. She is back in school at Newcomb College in New Orleans, so Paul rides the Rebel to the city every weekend to see her. The National Guard issued Paul orders to report to officer training in Georgia on the 2nd of June. He will spend four weeks there, and then train with his Guard unit for another four weeks later in the summer. The local scuttlebutt (that is a new word I learned; it is what the National Guardsmen call a rumor) is they will phase out the horses by the end of the year and will change the local Guard Company to an artillery company. Paul is unhappy about the change, but says he will remain with the Guard; he likes the extra pay he will get as an officer (and maybe he and Ciel will tie the knot–ha, ha.)

Everyone enjoyed reading your description of Christmas in Germany. I would love to see that much snow. Remember when we were kids, and it snowed here? It covered only a few grassy areas and melted by early afternoon, but it was beautiful while it lasted.

Please write more often if you can. We enjoy hearing from you.

Love,

Sweetie

Three months after Sweetie gave birth to Tommy, she lost all the weight she gained during the pregnancy. However, Harry became more distant and engaged in sex with her only after being coaxed, and insisted it be in the dark. He suggested they sleep in separate bedrooms when he was home from the city. With such an arrangement, he said, she could keep Tommy near her bed so it would not disturb him when she breastfed the baby in the middle of the night.

Despite his distance at home, Harry continued to enjoy being seen with Sweetie at the country club and at fashionable places in New Orleans.

One of newly-commissioned Second Lieutenant Paul Browning's first assignments as deputy company commander of C Company of the 272nd Anti-Aircraft Artillery Brigade of the Louisiana National Guard was to supervise loading the cavalry horses into cattle cars. The horses of the now-disbanded F Company of the 354th Cavalry Division were shipped to Fort Reno, Oklahoma, the headquarters of the only active cavalry unit of the National Guard. On July 16, 1939 a somber group of veterans from the Great War and other onlookers watched as the cars pulled away. Sweetie was there in the hot July afternoon, holding Tommy and standing next to Vonciel.

In Transit–South Atlantic Ocean

SS Senorita Martinez

September 30, 1939

Dear Sweetie, Vonciel, Harry, and Paul,

I am aboard a freighter traveling from Buenos Aires to Cape Town, South Africa. I will post this letter as soon as we reach port. I hope Tommy and everyone else is doing well. I am eager to see pictures of all of you.

This ship flies an Argentine flag, so I am sure we will safe from U-boats as we make this voyage. Out of caution, the captain set a more southerly course than normal, hoping to avoid contact with any hostile vessels.

Once war broke out in Europe, most of the people of Argentina want to ally with Germany. There is a general distrust of the English in that country because of a longstanding conflict over English claims to islands off the coast of Argentina. The Germans promise to return these islands to Argentina after they defeat the English. Many Argentine people admire the German leader, Hitler. I do not share their views of the Germans or its leader, and although José tried to persuade me otherwise, I thought it best to leave the country.

The U.S. Army Air Corps is recruiting pilots, but I do not qualify; the Air Corps requires at least two years of college for acceptance into the pilot training program. I spoke with the deputy consulate at the British Embassy about joining the Royal Air Force. They were interested in me because of my experience with the new German fighter plane, but I must swear allegiance to the British crown and I wasn't prepared to give such an oath. It was the same with the Canadians and Australians.

My luck changed when I met with the Consulate of the Union of South Africa. They invited me to enlist in the South African Air Force (they do not call themselves "Royal"); I need only to affirm I will abide by the laws of the Union and obey military orders. Their inventory of fighter planes includes several surplus German planes plus some modern British fighters such as the Hawker Hurricane. A pro-German South African government was in power for the past few years, but as war threatened in Europe, the voters kicked the pro-German government out of office and installed a government which allied itself with the British Commonwealth. South Africa's new government declared war on Germany a day after the British declared war. The SAAF will commission me a Second Lieutenant. They are so desperate to enlist experienced pilots; I will not be required to undergo basic training. After three and a half months flight training, Fighter Command will assign me to one of their air wings. It's uncertain where the SAAF will station me. Likely I'll be stationed near the Cape of Good Hope. The Germans would love to grab that strategic port early in the war.

It's great to hear Paul received a commission in the National Guard. Too bad about disbanding the cavalry, but the Great War proved cavalry was no match against fighter planes, tanks, and machine guns. I hope he and Vonciel will get married soon. They always made a cute couple.

I enjoy getting your swell letters. I get homesick sometimes, and your letters boost my morale. As soon as I can, I will let you know my new mailing address.

Your Friend,

Bobby Howe

Sweetie did not receive this letter until late November. From the various postmarks on the envelope, she saw the letter toke a circuitous route going from South Africa to Louisiana: Cape Town, Aden, Bombay, Singapore, Honolulu, and San Francisco.

Tommy taking up so much of her time, Sweetie did not get the opportunity to immediately answer Bobby.

Bogalusa, Louisiana U.S.A.

December 11, 1939

Dear Bobby,

All of us enjoy hearing from you. Your letter took two months to reach us. We pray you are safe and we will see you soon. Here is a snapshot Harry's dad took of Tommy and me. Everyone says Tommy is the spitting image of his dad. Do you have any recent photographs to send us? We would love to see what you look like now.

Harry finished his apprenticeship and received his union card. He could have a job at the paper mill, but he makes more money working at the New Orleans shipyard. Harry worries about the draft. Everyone says the Army will draft men soon, but he says he will be exempt from the draft with a wife, a child, and a job at the shipyard.

Now for the good news; Paul and Vonciel will marry in June. They have not announced their engagement yet, but plan to do so after Christmas. I am so excited for them! Ciel has asked me to be her matron of honor. The National Guard promoted Paul to First Lieutenant. The local commander says Paul is a natural leader, and informed Paul a slot is available for him in the next West Point class, but Paul intends to marry Ciel, so he turned down that opportunity.

We had a large Thanksgiving meal, but it was the second year in a row you have not been with us. We pray that we will be together again for the next one.

I'll write you a longer letter soon to let you catch up on all of our activities. Write us again soon.

Love,

Sweetie

SAAF Air Force Station Brooklyn

April 25, 1940

Dear Sweetie, Harry, Paul, and Vonciel,

I enjoy hearing from all of you. I am keen on what I am doing, but miss the fun times we had together and get homesick sometimes. Sweetie, thanks for the swell Kodak of you and Tommy. I purchased a leather picture holder for that picture and carry it in a pocket on my flight suit with me at all times.

My first assignment is with an SAAF squadron flying coastal reconnaissance from a small air station near Cape Town. It's routine and tedious; not a single kraut U-boat or warship has been seen so far, but I am getting a lot of flight time and am improving my skills. I trained for three and a half months at a base called Potchefstroom in the interior of the country. The training was intensive. I thought I knew how to fly before I joined the SAAF, but after only a few sessions I realized how much I needed to learn. The chief flight instructor is an RAF veteran from the Great War and taught me a lot. I got only a little time off during training, but one Sunday with the afternoon free, a few of us drove into the bush country and spotted several wild animals: a herd of giraffes, and several large cats.

I have been checked out in the new British Hurricane. It's a modern plane, but its performance capabilities do not match the German Bf-109s. Since becoming more familiar with the characteristics of the Hurricane, I believe it will turn a tighter circle to the right than the German fighter. This knowledge may save my life one of these days.

I wish you could meet my new good friend, Roddy Hewitt, who is several years older than me, and a nice guy. The SAAF granted us a pass for a few days off before our posting to the Cape, so we traveled by train to his home near Durban. It's a large farm and cattle ranch, and we rode horses to outlying fields of the ranch (they call their holdings a "farm", but from what I saw of it, it makes any farm around Bogalusa look like a small garden, ha ha).

I am not surprised Paul earned a promotion. It was, no doubt, a tough decision choosing to get married instead of accepting the appointment to West Point. I believe he could be a general one of these days. I wish I could be there for his wedding with Vonciel.

That is all for right now. Please write again soon.

Love,

Bobby

Bobby did not mention it in his letter, but in the other side of his newly-purchased leather picture holder he kept the only picture he saved of his mother and father. A professional photographer took the picture in his studio when Bobby was a year old. The image was of his smiling mother sitting and holding Bobby in her lap with a beaming dad standing behind them.

Even before she received Bobby's letter of March 25th, Sweetie sent another to him.

Bogalusa, Louisiana U.S.A.

May 6, 1940

Dear Bobby,

Big news! Paul and Vonciel are now Mr. and Mrs. Paul Browning. They married day before yesterday, and drove to Biloxi for their honeymoon. Harry loaned them our Ford Roadster for their trip. I was Ciel's matron of honor and Harry stood for Paul. It was a small ceremony at the Methodist Church, with only family and a few friends attending. Time was too short for Ciel to pick out a new wedding dress, but she looked stunning in a dress she borrowed from her aunt. Her hairdresser styled her hair in a double roll that accented her beautiful facial features. Paul looked dashing; anyone who saw him might have mistaken him for a young Gary Cooper in his tux with his hair slicked down. The picture of the bride and groom will be in the Bulletin next week; I will cut out a copy and send to you.

The National Guard received orders nationalizing them into the U.S. Army. They leave for training on June 1, and the Guardsmen will be inducted into the Army when they arrive at Camp Shelby, Mississippi. Training will continue for a month and a half, and then they expect to receive orders posting them to a permanent duty station. No one knows where the Army will post them; most are hoping it will be somewhere close by home. Paul and Vonciel planned a June wedding, but moved the wedding day up into May because of Paul's reporting date to Camp Shelby. They wed early instead of delaying the wedding because of the uncertainty where the Army may post Paul.

Harry and Tommy are both doing well. Harry sends you his regards.

That is all for right now. I will send you another letter when I get some time to myself (you cannot believe how much time I spend taking care of Tommy).

Love,

Sweetie

His SAAF unit was in the process of transfer from South Africa to Egypt, and Bobby never received Sweetie's letter of May 6, 1940.

Nairobi, Kenya Colony

May 12, 1940

Dear Sweetie,

I am writing this letter in Nairobi, Kenya, in transit to my new posting in Port Said, Egypt. The RAF pulled many planes and pilots out of North Africa sending them to the homeland to defend against a possible German invasion. The RAF attached our SAAF squadron to an RAF wing and ordered us to Egypt to secure the Suez Canal. We are not a full squadron, but that is what HQ wants to call our little group. We have flown four days from our post in South Africa to Kenya; we flew into several small airports, all with dirt runways, throughout eastern and central Africa to refuel and rest. Here at Nairobi, we landed on a good paved runway. We expect to be here several days while RAF-trained ground crews service our Hurricanes. It will take two more days of flying to reach Port Said. We will buzz the pyramids as we reach Cairo on the next leg of our journey!

I circled Mount Kilimanjaro as we approached Nairobi. It was a sight to see; snow covered the peak, even though the temperature at ground level is hot. The Squadron Leader is my friend, Roddy Hewitt, who I mentioned in my earlier letter. His family owns a large cattle ranch near Durban so we modified our route to include a stopover near Durban. We spent three more days at his family's farm before departing for Egypt. Roddy served in Kenya several years ago fighting the Italians in Ethiopia. He was credited with four confirmed kills in that war, and is eager to get his fifth to become an ace.

That is all for right now. Give everybody my regards.

Love,

Bobby

It was only a short time later the military instituted censorship of correspondence by servicemen in war zones; under censorship guidelines, revealing such information as unit strength and deployment orders in a letter might get the writer severe discipline, if not a court martial. Bobby posted this letter in the Royal Mail in Nairobi, and Sweetie received it less than two weeks later. In his earlier letters Bobby mentioned his four friends in the salutation; in this letter he mentioned only Sweetie.

Sweetie enjoyed exchanging correspondence with Bobby. It was so much fun reading his descriptions of his experiences; he was excited about things he was seeing and doing. She and Mr. Glass enjoyed tracing his whereabouts and his travels on the large atlas and gazetteer in her father-in-law's den. She found it fun to write Bobby about the various activities his friends enjoyed.
Chapter 3

SAAF Air Station Akim

Port Said, Egypt

September 10, 1940

Lieutenant Robert Howe flew reconnaissance missions over the eastern Mediterranean Sea almost daily since arriving at Port Said in mid-May. So far, he encountered no German U-boats, surface ships, or airplanes. The pilots of 7 Squadron listened to reports of the dogfights over France during the German offensive; the RAF's role in the gallant rescue of troops at Dunkirk; shortwave BBC accounts of the German air war over England and the heroic exploits of the out-manned RAF repelling those attacks. The BBC just reported the Luftwaffe bombed civilian targets in British cities, with heavy casualties. Not being a part of the ongoing action frustrated the pilots languishing at Air Station Akim.

Port Said was no glamor post. Most streets were unpaved, and although the city was within the Nile Delta, lush with plant life and vegetation, the dust was ubiquitous. The four SAAF pilots of 7 Squadron manning the small air station enjoyed decent quarters in a Quonset hut less than two hundred yards from the flight line. When not on a flight sortie, the pilots read two-week-old English language newspapers from Cairo, and listened to music and news on the BBC. They sometimes tuned to the English language broadcasts of Radio Berlin on shortwave, but after only a short time, tired of hearing Lord Haw-Haw's boasts of Nazi military victories.

Headquarters issued Bobby and Roddy Hewitt a three-day pass for a weekend in Cairo. Roddy visited several of the fleshpots in the seedier section of Cairo. Bobby used his free time to see the pyramids and the Sphinx, and spent time at the Cairo Museum, although the museum director already moved many of the exhibits to safer places, expecting possible air attacks against Cairo. The two friends would meet afternoons at the bar in the Cairo hotel where they were sharing a room, and quaff a few beers before returning to their station late Sunday night.

The early Prayer call from the minaret at the nearby mosque awoke Bobby before sunrise. He splashed water onto his face from the ewer on the dresser table, brushed his teeth, gargled, and walked out of his small room into the large day room which also served as a mess hall. The squadron's orderly, Ali Ahmed, greeted Bobby with, "Sabaah al-khayr," or "good morning."

Bobby responded with, "Sabaah an-nuur," or "morning of light." Bobby had a knack for languages, and learned some Arabic while on this station.

Ali prepared a bean, pepper, and onion dish with tasty flatbread for their breakfasts, and brewed a pot of the strong Turkish coffee for which Bobby developed a taste. He took a cup of black coffee and lighted one of his Egyptian cigarettes. He had not yet developed a taste for those cigarettes; he missed the smooth flavor of Lucky Strikes, which he had not smoked in over a year.

He noticed the doors to Casey's and Warren's rooms were closed. They were sleeping in today, since they flew late sorties yesterday. The door to Roddy's room was shut, but through the thin paneling on the door Bobby heard Morse code from the shortwave radio speaker. Roddy was receiving orders of the day from HQ in Alexandria. He would need about a half-hour to decode what he copied.

Bobby assumed today's orders would, as usual, direct them to fly east to the Suez Canal, fly a recon pattern out into the Mediterranean Sea and then back to base. On some occasions, the orders were to continue east past the canal over the Sinai Desert to assure no saboteurs were making their way overland to the canal. Bobby finished breakfast and was drinking his second cup of coffee and lighting his second cigarette when Roddy came into the day room carrying a copy of the orders and sporting a big grin.

"Hey, Yank, get Casey and Warren in here. I believe we'll see action today!"

Bobby complied and woke the other two members of the squadron; both walked into the day room sleepy-eyed, wearing only their boxer shorts and stained undershirts. Ali poured each a cup of coffee, and each lit their first cigarette of the day. Warren inquired, "What the hell's going on here?"

Roddy spread a map over the table and explained, "The I-ties are on the move. They've crossed from eastern Libya into western Egypt right here. HQ believes their first objective must be the coastal town of Sidi Barrani, right here," pointing out the two locations he mentioned. "For the time being, the Tommys aren't challenging them, but are pulling back. Our orders are to take our squadron to the town of Mersa Matruh, about sixty miles east of Sidi Barrani. We'll receive further orders when we get there.... Let's leave in an hour."

His three subordinates answered, "Yes sir," in unison.

The four Hurricanes arrived over Mersa Matruh by mid-morning. Roddy ordered Casey and Warren to land on the dirt strip while he and Bobby continued west to check the progress of the Italian advance. west of Sidi Barrani, they observed a two-mile-long convoy of Italian trucks and a few tanks. It seemed a tempting target for strafing. The two Hurricanes flew three passes setting several trucks afire and scattering troops, but they were running low on petrol so Roddy gave a hand signal to turn back.

As they started into their turn, Bobby saw two biplanes, so he broke radio silence, "Able Leader, Able Leader; two bandits bearing 275, copy?"

"Able Two, I see them... let's go get them."

The two Hurricanes broke off their turns and increased their speed in a westerly direction towards the two Italian biplanes. The Italians spotted the Hurricanes and attempted to turn back to safety, but Bobby and Roddy were on them in no time. Bobby recognized the planes as Italian-made Pomilio PEs; excellent aircraft from the Great War. The Italian air force must have pressed these now obsolete biplanes into service for recon, but these planes were no match for the newer Hurricanes. Bobby squeezed off a short machine gun burst and saw tracers strike the plane on the right. He killed the pilot with the first burst, so the plane rolled over and crashed into a dune. Bobby looked to his left and saw Roddy's shots hitting the engine of his target. The engine of the Italian bi-plane caught fire and emitted thick black smoke. Roddy put another short burst into the plane. These rounds killed the pilot, and the plane crashed into the desert, bursting into flames. Bobby and Roddy circled the crash sites to confirm their kills, joined up, and returned to Mersa Matruh. This was Bobby's first kill, but Roddy achieved his fifth kill thus became an ace.

Camp Shelby, Mississippi

September 19, 1940

In every army, at least since the time of the pharaohs, "hurry up and wait" was a fact of life. C Company's experience proved no exception. The men of the company arrived at Camp Shelby on June 1, 1940, expecting after being inducted into the Army, they would undergo four weeks of intense training and be assigned to a permanent duty station. Instead, after the four-week training period, further orders were not forthcoming from the Army to C Company, or to any of the other companies from Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama continuing to languish at Camp "Shitty." The troops stayed busy with more training, marching, digging drainage ditches and latrines, building Quonset huts for offices, securing tents, and other make-work projects; but received no comprehensive training on the use of the anti-aircraft artillery with which they needed to become proficient.

Captain Wayne Farrell, a Texas A&M graduate, assumed the position of company commander of C Company. Captain Farrell was a tall, slim red-headed man in his mid-twenties with a very pronounced Adam's apple who spoke with a distinct East Texas twang. He was a stern disciplinarian, but both he and Paul earned the respect of the enlisted personnel under their command by their continued presence with their men in the hot Mississippi summer sun during their labors, marches, and exercise. Captain Farrell insisted upon strict military protocol in all aspects of life at the camp, but proved to be a reasonable commanding officer, and handled the many problems encountered by the troops under his command with an even hand.

The Army was generous with weekend passes. Paul would leave the camp late Friday afternoon, hitchhike to Bogalusa to visit his new bride, and hitchhike back to report in late Sunday evening. Soon Paul and Vonciel realized it was easier for her to ride the bus from Bogalusa to nearby Hattiesburg on Fridays, rent a tourist court cabin for the weekend for the two of them, and return to Bogalusa on Monday. Her father accommodated this arrangement by letting her have most Fridays and Mondays off from her summer job at his drug store to be with her new husband.

Rumors abounded through the camp. One of the most persistent rumors said the anti-aircraft artillery brigade would mobilize to the Canal Zone to defend the Panama Canal, but so far, the Army issued no such orders. The men of the company hoped their posting would be somewhere along the coast of the Gulf of Mexico near New Orleans; but weeks went by while drilling and bullshit work details continued unabated at Camp Shelby, with no sign of orders.

SAAF Air Station Grace

Mersa Matruh

Western Egypt

December 10, 1940

Three months after arriving at the forward airstrip, the pilots of the SAAF 7 Squadron encountered only a few enemy planes although all of the pilots achieved success in encounters with the Italian air force. Most missions were reconnaissance flights over the Mediterranean Sea and over the western Sinai Desert.

Operation Compass, the British counteroffensive against the Italians dug in and around Sidi Barrani, was moving as planned; and Bobby was certain the Italian air force would have to challenge the Tommy's advance. However, their orders today were the same as before the operation began. Bobby and Roddy were to fly recon over the Mediterranean northwest of their airstrip to assure no Italian or German naval units threated the British advance. Warren and Casey flew recon southwest of the base, to determine whether the Italians were trying to flank the British from that direction.

Early in the mission, Roddy and Bobby observed several Royal Navy vessels; they wiggled their wings to the ships and continued their patrol. About two hundred miles northwest of their base, they spotted a submerged submarine in the clear waters of the Mediterranean Sea. There was no way to determine whether it was a British boat or an Italian submarine or German U-boat. Even if they identified the underwater vessel as enemy, their Hurricanes lacked suitable weapons with which to mount an attack against a submerged object. They circled the unknown object for several minutes, called in its location to Fleet Command in Alexandria and continued their patrol to the northwest.

As they reached the limits of their assigned patrol area, Roddy spotted something in the distance. "Able Two, Able Two, this is Able Leader. Bandits bearing 010. Copy?"

"Able Leader, Able Two... I confirm... two bandits, angels fifteen and closing." He added, "I don't think they've spotted us yet."

"Able Two, let's get them. Tally-ho!"

The bandits like Roddy and Bobby, must be at the outer limits of their patrol sector, and probably originated from either Sicily or southern Italy. It was a million-to-one chance these adversaries encountered each other on this day. Five minutes or five miles either way and they never would have met.

"Able Leader, I identify the bandits as Messerschmitt Bf-109s; a dogfight at maximum throttle will use much fuel. We may not have enough to get back to base. I suggest we break off and avoid engagement."

"Negative, Able Two, follow my lead... tally-ho!"

Roddy, Bobby and the two Messerschmitts flew past each other at maximum speed. Bobby could see the markings on the fuselage and wings. "Able Leader, those are Krauts, not Italians."

"Roger, I confirm... they are separating. Yank, take the one on your right."

"Roger, I have the one on my right."

Bobby, with his Hurricane still set at maximum throttle, turned his plane right and made a 180-degree turn. He could see his target also making a 180-degree turn, and now they headed directly at each other, again at maximum speed. As they approached, Bobby opened fire; he watched his tracers passing below the approaching Messerschmitt, and observed tracers headed his way from the oncoming bandit, but none of the rounds from his adversary were on target. The two planes missed each other by only a few feet. He saw through his mirror the Bf-109 turn to its left, so Bobby made a turn to his own left to come around to the side of the bandit. The German pilot recognized the maneuver Bobby was attempting, and broke off the fight. Bobby watched the German fly away in a northwesterly direction. "Able Leader, my 109 disengaged. It looks like he's headed for home."

"Roger, same here. Form up with me. I think I took a hit; check for damage to my plane, if you please."

As they formed up, Bobby observed Roddy's plane emitting a thin wisp of black smoke. He flew under and to each side, and saw the damage to his squadron leader's plane. "Able Leader, I see three bullet holes in your fuselage and two in the engine cowling. You're passing black smoke. Suggest we vector home."

"Roger, lean the mixture. We both must be low on petrol."

A slight headwind impeded their progress. After half an hour, they reached the approximate position where they spotted the submarine earlier. "Able Two, this is Able Leader. I am losing power... I cannot maintain altitude."

"Roger, copy. Are you going to 'walk out'?"

"Negative, I will stay with the plane. Uh-oh, the engine is coughing and missing. I will glide in and ditch. Give Fleet Command our position.... Lieutenant, this is an order: do not hang around here too long; head for the base, you must be low on fuel yourself."

Bobby radioed Fleet Command. HQ confirmed receipt of the message, and after a short pause, replied a destroyer was an hour and a half away from Roddy's position. Bobby passed the information to Roddy, and watched as his friend ditched the disabled Hurricane onto the surface of the choppy sea. Bobby saw Roddy climb out of the cockpit in his life jacket. As he circled, he watched the Hurricane slip beneath the waves, but he saw Roddy floating in the water, waving. Bobby glanced to the fuel gauge on his instrument panel, which showed he was extremely low on fuel; maybe there was sufficient fuel in the tanks to make it back to base, maybe not. He flew one more pass, low over Roddy afloat on the water, wiggled his wings, and headed southeast towards the base.

After twenty minutes on the southeast vector, encountering head winds stronger than earlier, he calculated his fuel supply would not be sufficient to make it to the base. He nosed the plane due south to come upon the African coastline west of the squadron's base. He hoped he would reach land within territory controlled by Commonwealth troops.

As the sun was setting and Bobby was in sight of the African coastline, the twelve-cylinder Rolls-Royce Merlin engine sucked the last petrol from the tanks. With no power, he glided the Hurricane towards shore, manually lowered the landing gear, attempting a dead-stick landing on the packed sand near the water's edge. As the wheels touched down, one found soft sand, causing the plane to cartwheel wing over wing, coming to rest upside down.

Bobby survived the crash landing, but as he attempted to free himself from his seat restraint, he realized his left arm was fractured along with possible broken ribs. He was bleeding from a gash in his forehead. Using his scarf, he attempted to stanch the blood-flow with his right hand.

In the fading light of dusk, he saw at least a dozen soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms approaching his wreck with weapons drawn.

Bogalusa, Louisiana

December 18, 1940

Sweetie stayed up late the night before with Mr. Glass, listening to war news on his shortwave radio as the two of them so often would. Before retiring for the night, they discussed the war. Each impressed the other with their in-depth grasp of the global geopolitical situation. She awoke before sunrise to give Tommy his morning feeding. Once sated, Tommy went back to sleep. To pass time before breakfast, she straightened and cleaned their room.

She joined Melba in the kitchen for breakfast, and perused the morning's Times-Picayune paper. By nine o'clock Sweetie finished reading all the war news in the paper. She had read every war report and commentary in the December 9th issue of Time. She expected the December 16th issue to arrive in today's day's mail. As each issue of the magazine arrived, she was the first to claim it and vet the articles about the war, to see if she could glean any news related to Bobby. There were occasional mentions in the periodicals and shortwave newscasts about the Suez Canal, but never a word about the South African Air Force pilots guarding the canal. She read of the Italian incursion into western Egypt, but after she and Mr. Glass studied maps of Egypt and Libya in his large atlas in the den, she concluded, with some relief–albeit erroneously–Bobby was far from the action taking place over the western Egyptian desert. She received no correspondence from Bobby since his May 12 letter, which arrived in mid-June.

She took another cup of coffee along with Tommy to the glassed-in back porch, set Tommy on a pallet on the floor, and lit another cigarette. Basking in the sunlight, Tommy drifted off to sleep. She sat in a rocking chair with a magazine, and smiled as she watched her little boy sleeping.

It was seasonable weather for mid-December in southern Louisiana, somewhat cool; but with the bright sun shining through the glass, it was warm enough on the porch to sit in shirt sleeves, with a light blanket to cover Tommy while he slept. Sweetie was wearing brown gabardine pants with wide legs and a light gold silk blouse with lace insert panels above her bust and vertical pintuck pleads an outfit that Ola helped her choose during their last foray to New Orleans. Ola's beautician at an exclusive uptown salon in the city bleached Sweetie's hair several shades lighter than her natural "dirty blond." With her "finger wave" hairstyle, she thought she could pass for a younger Jean Harlow, and felt like a celebrity like those she read about in her Movie Star magazines. She used a cigarette holder now, like Mrs. Glass, but never put a filter in the holder. Using the cigarette holder, she thought, made her appear sophisticated, but she preferred the taste of the unfiltered smoke.

She looked over again and admired her son, realizing that in February he would be two years old. When she and Harry talked last, he mentioned he wanted a second child. The draft was instituted two months ago, and already several of their friends from high school received induction notices. Harry felt comfortable about his draft status; the shipyard welding job and him being married with a child were sufficient grounds for a deferment under current draft regulations. He worried, however, about his future status, and thought his job, plus two children, would assure him a continued exempt status, regardless of the manpower needs of the military and any changes in the draft rules.

At times, Harry and Sweetie discussed her and Tommy moving to New Orleans to be close to him, but neither took any action to make the move happen. Sweetie suspected Harry might be engaged in an affair in New Orleans, maybe even keeping a mistress, and would not want her living too close. She was indifferent as to whether Harry kept a mistress in New Orleans. He enjoyed a substantial income from his job and his trusts, and provided Sweetie a generous allowance to do with as she pleased. Mr. and Mrs. Glass gave Sweetie a decent room, bought all the groceries for her and Tommy, and kept both in nice clothes. Melba looked after Tommy whenever Sweetie wanted to go to a movie or visit Vonciel. Sweetie knew she was enjoying a good life, and was thankful. She would happily provide Harry another child, if such was the price she must pay to continue enjoying this standard of living. Besides, she wanted another baby; maybe even two or three more.

An article she was reading in her latest Movie Star magazine attracted her full attention, and she did not hear Vonciel come through the house and out onto the back porch. She looked up when she saw Vonciel pick Tommy up from his pallet. Sweetie admired her outfit, an off-white dress with red dots and red buttons up the front. Ciel wore her auburn hair in the double roll which was then so stylish. The two young women presented the epitome of modern 1940s appearance.

They planned to shop together on Columbia Road in the afternoon for Christmas presents. The stores on the Road closed on Wednesday afternoons most of the year, but this being less than two weeks before Christmas; many were open until five o'clock.

Paul received no weekend passes in the three weeks since C Company's training was intensified to prepare for their upcoming deployment, but only yesterday The Army granted Paul two weeks' liberty over Christmas. His wife remained excited about that news.

Vonciel sat in the rocker next to Sweetie, still holding Tommy. The child loved Vonciel, and since his mother called her Ciel, he called her Aunt C.C., and told everyone she smelled good. Aunt C.C. kissed him a few times on the cheek, leaving lipstick impressions, which she wiped off.

"Ciel, I guess Paul is glad to know where his posting will be. The suspense has been hard to bear. I'm happy he'll be home for Christmas, and we can get together again."

"Yes, I'm looking forward to Christmas, but the company ships out on January fifth." She signed deeply. "I try to look at the silver lining; after the troops settle into their posting, officer's wives can join their husbands there. I hear the Canal Zone has many of the same amenities as a typical American community. I think we'll enjoy living there."

For perhaps the first time in military history, the scuttlebutt among the troops proved to be correct: C Company was being deployed to the Panama Canal Zone to man anti-aircraft batteries protecting the canal from potential hostile air attacks.

As Melba was serving the two-young women coffee, the door chime sounded. Melba went to the front of the house to answer. She returned with a distressed look on her face. "Miss Sweetie, the Western Union boy delivered a cablegram for you."

Sweetie tore open the envelope containing the message. It was about half the size of ordinary typing paper. It read:

WESTERN UNION INTERNATIONAL COMMUNICATIONS BY CABLEGRAM

16 DECEMBER 1940

TO MRS MILDRED GLASS

312 LOUISIANA AVENUE

BOGALUSA LOUISIANA USA TELEPHONE NUMBER 211 STOP

IT IS WITH REGRET WE ADVISE YOUR KIN LIEUTENANT ROBERT C HOWE SAAF SERIAL NUMBER AH17556234 IS MISSING IN ACTION OVER NORTH AFRICA STOP

WE WILL NOTIFY YOU IF FURTHER INFORMATION IS FORTHCOMING STOP

SOUTH AFRICA AIR FORCE FIGHTER COMMAND

COLONEL JAMES PFEIFFER STOP

Sweetie was stunned as she reread the message. For a fleeting moment, the fact Bobby named her "next of kin" to receive important messages about him from the war zone pleased her, but in the next instant she understood the full import of the cablegram.

She reread the message several times to be certain she understood what it was saying. Without a word, she handed the paper to her friend, who read it without comment as Sweetie sobbed. Her sobbing became louder, and then she broke into hysterical crying. She hugged Melba impulsively, continuing to cry. Vonciel patted her back and tried to comfort her.

"Sweetie, it says he's only missing. They'll locate him."

Vonciel's efforts didn't comfort Sweetie; she continued to cry, holding ever tighter to Melba.

"No, I just know he's dead! I've been feeling anxious about Bobby for days now... You don't understand. I love Bobby; I've always loved him... he's never even seen Tommy, and now Tommy will never know his real father!"

Vonciel gasped.

Melba pushed Sweetie away, held her by the upper arms, and, in a low, soft voice, said, "Child, don't you ever say something like that again. You are Mrs. Harold Glass, and Tommy is Mr. Harry's baby, nobody else's."

Looking at Vonciel, she said in a stern voice, "Miss Ciel, you heard nothing. Understand?"

Regaining her composure, Vonciel looked Melba in the eyes and said, "Yes ma'am, I understand. I heard nothing."

Bardia, Libya

January 2, 1941

Lieutenant General Annibale Bergonzoli, who carried the sobriquet "Electric Whiskers" because of his bright red beard, commanded this Italian stronghold on the border between Libya and Egypt. Italian dictator Benito Mussolini ordered his general to hold Bardia at "whatever costs" to prevent the British and Commonwealth forces from further incursion into Libya. Electric Whiskers replied, "In Bardia we are, and here we stay." General Bergonzoli, a veteran of the Spanish Civil War, was admired and well respected by the troops serving under his command. Morale among the defenders of Bardia was high.

On the morning of the second of January, British Bomber Command sent every available bomber into action against the 45,000 Italian troops holding Bardia. Bombing continued throughout the day and night. On the following day, three battleships of the Royal Navy, along with several cruisers and other warships positioned offshore, commenced an intensive bombardment of the defenses of the beleaguered city. The Italian defenders suffered extensive casualties.

On the fourth of January, General Bergonzoli, concluding the situation in Bardia was hopeless, donned the uniform of a private and, with about a dozen of his most loyal troops, slipped out of the city under the cover of the early morning darkness. This group escaped to Tobruk, seventy miles to the west. At sunset on the same day, the 40,000 troops who survived the aerial bombing, the naval bombardment, and the assaults on the outlying defenses struck the Italian flag in front of the Government House and ran up a white flag of surrender.

On January fifth, a Commonwealth detachment of Gurkha troops reconnoitering the Bardia hospital, which survived the bombardment with little damage, found a patient handcuffed to his bed with his head bandaged and his arm in a sling. He identified himself as an American pilot in the South African Air Force, whose plane crash-landed behind Italian lines a few weeks earlier.

Bogalusa, Louisiana

January 5, 1941

The 117 men and two officers of C Company mustered near the GM&O passenger depot at seven o'clock. Sunrise occurred a few minutes earlier, but darkness lingered because of the overcast skies. The mustered troops experienced misting rain, and a temperature hovering only two degrees above freezing. After a brief reveille ceremony and a long-winded speech by the city's mayor, a veteran of the Great War, extolling the men to give it all for their country, the Company Commander dismissed the assembled troops, allowing them say their farewells to their loved ones trying to stay warm and dry under the covered area of the depot. Paul and the three platoon sergeants stayed behind a few minutes to confer with the Captain Farrell regarding the logistics of reassembling and loading the men and materials into the three railroad cars on the nearby siding. The three cars were to be connected to the southbound Rebel when it made its scheduled stop in Bogalusa. After several minutes of conversation, Paul and the three platoon sergeants backed away, snapped to attention, saluted their company commander, executed an about-face, and trotted to the depot.

Paul spotted his wife and Sweetie waiting near the door to the "Whites Only" waiting area. He embraced Vonciel, and the three of them moved into the warmer waiting room. The two women, dressed in the most up-to-date styles of the times, stood out among all the wives, mothers, and sweethearts seeing their loved ones off that morning. Sweetie paid little attention to the proceedings and spoke only sparingly to Paul or Vonciel; her thoughts were elsewhere. Paul and Vonciel kissed several times.

The three of them stood by each other in silence for a while, Paul with his arm around his wife. After a few minutes, Paul looked at the Regulator clock on the wall and announced it was time to reassemble the company. He and Vonciel said their goodbyes to each other, embraced, and kissed for more than a minute. Paul pecked Sweetie on the cheek, and trotted to the staging area to tend to business.

Captain Ferrell ordered the assembled company to attention at 7:45. Each of the three platoon sergeants in turn shouted, "All present and accounted for, sir!" The troops marched to the awaiting troop cars and boarded single-file. Several members of the local high school band were on hand with their instruments, playing Sousa marches as the troops boarded the cars. The conductor closed the doors at eight o'clock sharp. The Rebel was scheduled to arrive at the Bogalusa depot at 8:25, but because of inclement weather up the line, did not pull into the station until half an hour later. A switch engine placed the three troop cars at the end of the train, and the Rebel left the station a few minutes after nine o'clock. The three cars carrying C Company would be switched from the Rebel at Slidell, just northeast of New Orleans, to an eastbound train to carry them to Jacksonville, Florida. There they would board a troop ship to carry them to their assigned duty station in the Panama Canal Zone.

Vonciel planned to join Paul there in mid-March.

Chapter 4

Royal Navy Hospital

Alexandria, Egypt

January 12, 1941

"Nurse, did you check with Fighter Command for any news about Captain Hewitt for me?"

"Aye, laddy, I jus' checked with 'em fer ye. His status is 'missing in action, presumed dead'. I'm sorry. They said because you saw 'im in the water and the destroyer could not fin' 'im. Makes 'is status 'presumed dead'."

Bobby lay in his bed in the crowded ward of the Royal Naval Hospital, thinking, and for the first time questioning why he was here. Over the past few weeks, he often thought of home and of Sweetie. He remembered with pleasure their lovemaking in the company pasture that warm spring day. He made love with other women since then: two senoritas in Argentina and a beautiful fraulein Christmas night in Carinhall, whom he knew must be a prostitute; but none of whom compared to Sweetie. I love her and should have married her, he thought to himself, still unaware he was the father of her child; we could have enjoyed a beautiful life together. He knew it was the first time for each. I should have called her the very next day, or gone to see her; if I had, she wouldn't have given herself to Harry a few weeks later. What was I thinking? I guess I was feeling embarrassed for what we did, but I'd be kidding myself if I said it wasn't something I often wished would happen.

Bobby was deep in thought as the nurse walked by his bed. interrupting his thoughts. She stopped between his bed and the bed next to his, so he asked, "Nurse, can you write a letter for me? I've tried to write with my right hand; it takes forever to finish a sentence, and then what I write looks like crap..."

The elderly Scottish nurse laughed and said in her thick brogue, "Watch yer language around me, laddy... aye, haud yer wheest, I'll git with ye in a moment."

She finished updating the chart of the patient in the next bed, and then picked a sheet of onionskin writing paper, a pad and a pen from the nurses' desk, and pulled up a chair next to Bobby's bed. "Now, laddy, who we writing to? Is it to yer quine?"

"No, it's to some friends back home. I haven't written them in several months. I need to let them know I'm doing okay."

Bobby was unaware SAAF Fighter Command sent Sweetie a cablegram advising he was missing in action, and was likewise unaware they had not yet notified her of his rescue.

"Well, speak slow and distinct. Ye talk with a funny accent."

Bobby provided the nurse Sweetie's full name and address, spelling the city and state for her; then continued: "Dear Sweetie, I am sorry for not writing sooner, but we have been busy over here. I am sure you have heard news reports about how we have driven the Italians almost out of North Africa. I heard this morning Commonwealth soldiers recaptured Tobruk. It looks like it will all be over before I get back into action.

"I am in the British Naval Hospital in Alexandria, Egypt. This is the city where Cleopatra reigned. If I am not released from the hospital tomorrow, I hope to obtain a pass from the hospital to visit a local museum.

"I experienced a hard landing in my plane while returning from a mission a few weeks ago, and broke my left arm. I am on the mend now, and hope to get back in action within a few days."

Bobby chose not to tell her the circumstances of his "hard landing," or the full extent of his injuries, including the broken ribs and the deep gash on his forehead which an inexperienced medic at the Italian field hospital did a poor job stitching. He also decided not to relate to her anything about the few weeks he spent as an Italian prisoner. He continued, "I received orders attaching me and the other members of the SAAF wing to RAF 422 Squadron. I will fly one of the new Tomahawk fighters..."

The nurse shook her head and scolded Bobby, "Laddy, the censors do not want ye to identify your unit and do not want ye to name the new fighter ye'll be flying."

"Okay, erase that sentence."

"I ne'er wrote it down... continue."

"I hope you and Tommy are doing well. He must be growing big now; I can't believe he will be two years old in April and I've never seen him. I'm assuming Paul and Vonciel have tied the knot by now; I hope they're both happy and doing well. Give everybody my regards. Love, Bobby... P.S., my new mailing address through RAF Fighter Command is below." Not once did he mention Harry or his other friends in the letter.

The nurse addressed the envelope and carried the letter to the Censor Officer in the hospital. He read carefully and seeing nothing that concerned him, he stamped it "approved". Later, the nurse purchased postage stamps with money Bobby provided her, and deposited Bobby's letter in the Royal Mail receptacle in the hospital lobby.

Sweetie received the letter six weeks later. She did not recognize the feminine handwriting on the envelope, but judging from the Royal Mail postmarks from Alexandria, Aden Colony, and Singapore, and U.S. postmarks from Hawaii and San Francisco, she surmised it concerned Bobby. After holding the letter for a few minutes, she laid it on the table, afraid to open it, assuming it could not be anything but more bad news. An hour later, she briskly walked to the table, picked up the letter, and tore open the frail envelope. She almost fainted when she realized the letter was from Bobby!

Two weeks later, Western Union delivered Sweetie a cablegram from the South African Air Force Fighter Command, notifying her Bobby had been rescued and was convalescing at a Royal Navy hospital in Alexandria, Egypt.

RAF Air Station King

40 miles south of Alexandria, Egypt

February 7, 1941

Wing Commander Gordon Bertrand watched from the tower gazing west into the setting sun as Bobby landed the Tomahawk on the hard-packed dirt runway and taxied to the flight line. He looked over to his sergeant and said, "Have Lieutenant Howe report to my office right away."

Five minutes later, Bobby knocked on the commander's door, and the Wing Commander shouted for him to enter. He entered the stark office and snapped a proper British salute and barked, "Lieutenant Howe reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease, Lieutenant; have a seat, please. Would you care for some tea?"

Bobby replied, "Yes sir," and sat down in the straight wooden chair in front of the Wing Commander's desk.

An oscillating fan in the corner of the room was blowing the hot air around without accomplishing much in the way of cooling the space.

"First, some good news for you. Headquarters staff confirmed the probable kill you claimed last week. Congratulations, Lieutenant, you now have four confirmed kills."

"Thank you, sir. I try to do my part..."

The wing commander interrupted and got straight to the point. "Yes, yes... Lieutenant, the main reason I brought you in was to tell you effective as soon as we receive written orders from RAF Fighter Command in London, the RAF will second you from the South African Air Force..."

Bobby interrupted, "With all due respect, sir, I prefer not to jeopardize my American citizenship by swearing allegiance to the Crown."

"That is no longer necessary, Lieutenant; the RAF now only requires you swear to obey lawful orders and abide by the discipline of the RAF and British Military Command. Can you make such an oath?"

"Yes sir; I would be proud to make such an oath."

"Jolly good.... Along with your secondment into the RAF, you will be promoted to the rank of Flight Lieutenant."

The Wing Commander's orderly knocked once on the door and came into the office with tea. As they sipped, the Wing Commander changed the subject. "Flight Lieutenant Howe, since you have piloted the Tomahawk–or I suppose you Yanks prefer to call it, the P-40 – for several sorties, how do you compare it to the Messerschmitt Bf-109, which I see from your record you flew in the past?"

"Sir, this new Tomahawk is at least as good as the 109s I flew several years ago, but those planes were the early Model B Messerschmitt manufactured for the Luftwaffe in the 1930s, and saw action in the Spanish Civil War. We know the Germans have improved the Bf-109 in the years since I flew those planes."

"Yes, I think we can bloody well assume the current 109s we see are an improved version over those of the mid-1930s," the somewhat overweight commander said in a detached way.

Commander Bertrand unrolled a map and laid it over his desk to explain the present military situation in North Africa to Bobby. "We have pushed the Italians back to central Libya, and the Commonwealth troops have advanced as far as El Agheila here," he said, pointing out a spot on the map a little more than four hundred miles east of Tripoli, then continued, "Our offensive has almost annihilated the Italian army in North Africa. We could drive them out of this part of Africa, except our High Command has pulled the best Commonwealth troops out of this theatre and sent them to East Africa to push the Italians out of Italian Somalia and Eritrea. Further, High Command has taken most of our best British troops and RAF squadrons out of this theatre for the defense of Greece. We have only a small contingent of inexperienced units for the final push to Tripoli. You are one of the few experienced pilots available for this operation. However, given the present state of the Italian military, the forces available should be sufficient. Your SAAF wing and a RNZAF squadron will fly tomorrow to an advance air station in Libya to provide air cover for this offense, which will commence in two or three weeks."

"Very good, sir; we're looking forward to getting back into action."

"I am not sure how much action you will see; it's unlikely the Italians can put up much of a defense against our advance westward."

The Wing Commander, as well as the rest of the British military high command in North Africa, were unaware advance units of an elite German fighting force soon to become known to the world as the "Afrika Korps" arrived in Tripoli several days earlier, and were likewise unaware the commander of the Afrika Korps, Lieutenant General Erwin Rommel, arrived in Tripoli earlier this day. Panzer and artillery units of the Afrika Corps were already moving east from Tripoli to engage the British.

RAF Forward Air Station Uncle

6 miles east of El Agheila, Libya

March 24, 1941

Written orders seconding him to the RAF not yet received, Bobby and the three other members of the wing of Tomahawks he led continued flying with the SAAF. The four were traveling west with the morning sun to their backs 75 miles west of El Agheila. They spotted the Luftwaffe formations approaching at an altitude about two thousand feet below the squadron's altitude. Although not certain, Bobby surmised the higher formation, comprising 16 planes, were fighter escorts, and the lower formation of 24 planes were bombers. After a better view, he determined the bombers were the slow-moving JU-87, or Stuka dive bombers.

Bobby maintained radio silence and signaled an attack to his wingmen by holding up the index finger of this right hand and making a circle. He looked around and satisfied himself his three wingmen received the signal, and all were aware of the approaching formations. Bobby led the squadron into a shallow dive at maximum speed and, as they approached the bomber formation, fired short bursts at their targets. Bobby's shots slammed into the lead Stuka, which burst into flames and rolled to the side. He noticed his wingmen hit two other Stukas. He and his wing continued past the German formation and did not confirm any of their targets hit the ground.

The Messerschmitt Bf-109 pilots flying escort for the Stuka bombers were unaware of the Tomahawks until their bombers received fire from the SAAF group. Bobby's wing was west of the Germans before the fighters turned to give chase. The four Tomahawks were at too low an altitude to engage the approaching Germans, so Bobby led his group at maximum power to gain enough altitude for the expected dogfight. The Allison V-1710 engine strained as the four Tomahawks climbed to reach optimum altitude.

Bobby reached an altitude of 12,000 feet, and saw the bombers were still a tempting target. There being no longer need for radio silence, Bobby ordered, "Oboe Three and Oboe Four, take the bombers again; Oboe Two, let's get the Messerschmitts. Tally-ho!"

Casey and Warren, flying Three and Four, broke right to engage the bombers while Bobby and Simpson, his Number Two, went into a shallow dive at full power, going after the 109s. Bobby realized he was in the blind spot of one of the Germans, so he gave full throttle to the Tomahawk, came up behind the Messerschmitt, and fired a series of short bursts, setting the plane afire. Simpson warned him, "Yank, a bandit is on your tail!" Bobby didn't see him, but trusted Simpson's warning and broke hard right. Sure enough, as Bobby believed, the 109 could not make as tight a right turn as the Tomahawk, and overflew Bobby. He fired several short bursts and saw the plane wing over and spin out of control. Bobby watched Simpson fire several rounds into another 109 and saw it catch fire and roll over. Bobby saw both planes crash into the desert. Simpson called out, "Yank, I confirm your kill. Did you see mine?"

Bobby answered "Roger! Now let's get the rest of the fighters."

Bobby looked around and did not see Casey or Warren, but observed contrails at least five thousand feet above his altitude. The 1040-horsepower V-12 engine again strained as Bobby climbed back to altitude. He spotted Simpson, and saw a Bf-109 had an angle on him and was closing in for the kill. He realized if Simpson broke right the 109 would have a good shot, so he hollered into his mike, "Oboe Two break hard left, a 109 closing on you!" He saw Simpson bank and turn left, but the 109 followed. By making such maneuver the German pilot presented Bobby a good angle on his aircraft. However, Bobby could not close since the two planes were nearly equal in top speed. Bobby knew he was too far away for an effective shot. He nosed the Tomahawk up, sacrificing some speed, but hoping the trajectory of the rounds he fired from his machine guns might intercept the bandit closing on his wingman. He observed the tracers arc and pass in front of the 109. The German pilot could not determine from which direction the tracers were coming. The 109-pilot made a fatal error; he executed a right turn to break off his attack on Bobby's wingman. Bobby took the Tomahawk into a shallow dive with the Allison at full power and turned right in a tighter radius to come up behind the 109. He fired several bursts with his twin .50 caliber Browning machine guns and saw the tracers make contact. He fired off several more rounds with both the .50 caliber and .30 caliber machine guns running out of ammunition. Bobby could see flames in the cockpit of his prey; the pilot rolled the plane over and bailed out. The damaged 109 crashed into the desert below, and Bobby watched the pilot's chute open just a few hundred feet above the ground. Simpson came on the radio, "Yank, I confirm that kill too. Good shooting!"

Bobby answered, "Simpson, are you okay, any damage?"

"Negative, all okay, but low on fuel."

"Same here. Oboe Three; Oboe Four. Report."

"Oboe Three. Also low on fuel."

"Oboe Four. Same."

"Can y'all break off? Vector 180 to reform." His southern U.S. accent was often the subject of teasing, but the three pilots under his command experienced no difficulty comprehending his order. All nosed their planes south; the remaining 109s did not pursue, but instead rejoined the remaining bombers continuing east.

The four Tomahawks re-formed ten miles south of the area of the dogfights and headed east-northeast to Air Station Uncle. They viewed black smoke coming from the direction of El Agheila. Approaching the landing strip, they could see a large convoy of lorries headed east. Taxiing to the flight line, they noted several lorries being loaded and much frantic activity elsewhere within the base. A sergeant in charge of the ground crew explained, "It looks like the Jerrys will overrun El Agheila by tomorrow. We're abandoning this position and will set up new defensive positions at Mersa el Brega, 30 miles east of here.... We can refuel your four planes, and then destroy the rest of the fuel supplies. You are to take your squadron to Air Station Peter southeast of Tobruk and join up with two squadrons there. We have enough lorries to take us to the new defensive perimeter. Godspeed, Yank!"

Bogalusa, Louisiana

March 31, 1941

Sweetie lapsed into a state of melancholia upon receiving the cablegram advising Bobby was missing in action. She did not read newspapers or otherwise keep abreast of the war news. Mr. Glass invited her to listen with him to shortwave war reports, but she was not interested. She snapped out of her despondency at once upon receiving Bobby's letter, and again became obsessive about staying current with the war news. As before, almost every night she listened to shortwave newscasts with Pops, the name they now called Mr. Glass. The two of them would often stay up after midnight, discussing the implications of the recent reports from the war zones. She read everything pertaining to the war in the daily New Orleans papers, and the more in-depth reports in the weekly Time magazine articles about the war; reports detailing the North African campaign attracted most of her attention. She visited the library every Wednesday to read war news and commentary in the Sunday edition of the New York Times.

She was lonesome. Vonciel left three weeks earlier to join Paul in the Panama Canal Zone. Sweetie received a letter from her the day before, which lifted her spirits.

Harry was eager for another baby. His dad's cousin, the business manager of the union in New Orleans, scheduled favorable hours for Harry, so he could ride the Rebel to Bogalusa Friday evenings and return to New Orleans Monday mornings. Harry and Sweetie engaged in sex three times every weekend, but it was without passion or emotion. Harry insisted they have sex only in the dark, and he performed only enough foreplay to make Sweetie ready. As soon as he ejaculated, he pulled away and left the room. Sweetie received no pleasure from the sex with Harry, but contented herself with the knowledge she would soon have another baby. Even after several weeks of this routine she was not pregnant.

Bogalusa, Louisiana U.S.A.

March 31, 1941

Dear Bobby,

I enjoyed receiving and reading your letter of January 22nd. Not hearing anything for such a long time we worried about you. I am so glad you are in Alexandria, Egypt, far from the fighting in Libya. The news on the radio has not been optimistic. I heard this morning the Germans have taken another British desert outpost called Mersa el Brega. I looked up that city in Mr. Glass's atlas and gazetteer; and found it to be far from Alexandria. The articles in the newspapers and Time magazine report the new commander of the Germans is a military genius. I hope you stay safe.

Yes, Paul and Vonciel were married last May just before the Army called Paul's National Guard Company into active service. The Army sent Paul to the Panama Canal Zone in January and Ciel joined him there three weeks ago. I received a letter from her yesterday. I believe she enjoys living there. She says life in the zone is much like it is in Bogalusa. Found within the zone are a women's clothing shop, a movie theater, an ice cream parlor, an English language radio station, several nice places to eat, a newspaper, and everything else you need to live in comfort or even in luxury. The two of them frequent the Officers' Club and Ciel joined the Officer's Wives' Club. Paul rented a nice bungalow with a view of the canal which came with a maid and a gardener. They purchased a used 1935 Packard. She is enjoying life as an officer's wife.

I stay busy with Tommy. We walk almost every day when the weather permits. Sometimes he walks with me, and sometimes I push him in his stroller. We go to the park by the railroad depot to see the large billboard with the names of local servicemen on active duty in the armed services. Your name isn't on the board since you are not with the U.S. military, but I spoke with Teeny Smith who was recently elected mayor of the city to see if we can have your name put in its proper place. She promised to see if she could make this happen.

We sometimes go into the Town Drug Store across the street from the park for ice cream. The nice Mr. Justin, one of the brothers who works for Mr. York, does funny magic tricks for the kids; he pulls nickels from behind their ears. Tommy laughs at those tricks. He is getting so big. He is an active boy who gets into everything. He is as smart as can be, and his curiosity knows no bounds. He talks constantly and has a large vocabulary for his age.

That is all I have for right now. Write us soon.

Love,

Sweetie

There was much more she wanted to say, but as usual, she kept her letter to Bobby brief. She allowed herself to cry as she sealed the letter.

Bogalusa, Louisiana,

April 11, 1941

"Hello?"

"Hello, Sweetie, this is Teeny Smith."

"Good morning, Mrs. Mayor."

"Sweetie, you don't have to call me that – just call me Teeny...I have bad news to report about your request to include Bobby Howe's name on our servicemen's billboard at Railroad Park... We went into executive session of the Commission Council last night. The Commissioners decided his name should not be included. I'm very sorry I couldn't help Bobby; I spoke in favor of putting his name on the board, but I don't have a vote on the council, and the rest of the council members were not in favor..."

"What reason did they give?"

"Sweetie, I can't tell you. Those executive sessions are confidential."

"Teeny, you taught Bobby and me in the eighth grade. You can't hold back telling us what they said about Bobby."

"All right, I guess I should tell you. Red Covington, the Commissioner of Public Safety–you know, he's over the police and fire department. First, he said there was no official confirmation Bobby was even in a foreign military service – he said Bobby was probably off somewhere dodging the draft. Then he said when he was a policeman, he had several run-ins with Bobby's father, and he believes Bobby is no better than his father. He said he didn't want to see Bobby's name on the city-sponsored bulletin board."

"Teeny, he can't lay the sins of his father onto Bobby."

"Well, I argued the same thing which seemed to influence several commissioners. But then he brought to the council's attention that while he was a patrolman on the police force, he arrested Bobby for trespassing at the old Miller house on North Border Drive while Bobby was still in high school..."

"Oh Teeny, the police caught five of us in the Miller house that day! Mr. Covington let four of us off with a warning, but he hauled Bobby to the police station. As soon as Harry got home, he told his dad who drove immediately to the station and got Bobby released, before the police even took his fingerprints. No criminal charges were ever filed against Bobby."

"Sweetie... I'm not sure I should repeat this, but it convinced the council: Covington closed the argument by saying he never understood why they ever let Bobby in school with the white children."

Aberdeen Scotland

July 4, 1941

While awaiting the written orders seconding him to the RAF, Bobby continued flying missions as a pilot for the SAAF. Over a period of a few weeks, he downed five more German planes, giving him eleven confirmed kills during the North African campaign. Rumors circulated among the Commonwealth pilots saying the Luftwaffe placed a bounty on Bobby, offering a thousand Reichsmarks to "whoever brings down that verdammter Yank in the Tomahawk." A captured German pilot confirmed this rumor after Bobby departed for Scotland.

The captured pilot said they often overheard Commonwealth pilots calling out to the Yank during dogfights. German pilots who flew against him called him the Amerikanischer Geist, or American Ghost, as they marveled at his flying skills. Experienced Luftwaffe pilots reported they would sometimes have him in their gunsights, and as they closed in for the certain kill, he would execute a maneuver, seemingly to disappear and suddenly become the pursuer on their tail. Bobby's commander planned to recommend him for a Distinguished Service Medal, but because of his secondment into the RAF, no such recommendation was forthcoming.

On 6 May 1941, the written orders from RAF Fighter Command were received and the SAAF granted Bobby an honorable discharge from service. Wing Commander Bertrand sworn him into the Royal Air Force with the rank of Flight Lieutenant. Four days later, he boarded a destroyer in Alexandria, Egypt for transportation to Plymouth, England. From there he traveled by train to London for briefing by Fighter Command and to receive orders as to his new posting. He was disappointed to find he was not posted to a forward base to fly a Spitfire and see action against the Germans; instead, RAF Fighter Command assigned him as an instructor to train pilots in advanced aerial combat techniques. He reported to RAF Fraserburgh in Aberdeenshire, Scotland on May 30. The RAF possessed several captured Bf-109s, which he often flew in the training exercises. Although secondments are temporary in most cases, Bobby believed he was in the RAF for the duration of the war.

Aberdeen, Scotland

July 4, 1941

Dear Sweetie,

As you can see, I am no longer in North Africa, instead immediately upon secondment, the RAF transferred this boy to Scotland. I cannot disclose much about what I am doing, but I can tell you I am involved in training.

The weather up here is dreary and damp even in July. As you can imagine, the locals do not celebrate the Fourth of July (ha, ha). I miss the times when the five of us were together on the Fourth and made ice cream and shot fireworks.

I am billeted with a nice Scottish family in a village near the airfield. They have a son serving in North Africa and were excited to learn I had been in that theater of operation. They pepper me with questions every night asking who I have seen and where I have been. I hope their son comes through okay.

I did a little sightseeing on my way to this station. I hoped to see the Roman ruins at Bath, but the train only stopped there for a few minutes. I walked around in London for a few hours and saw the Big Ben clock and walked to within sight of the Tower of London. No tourists are allowed inside there since they're holding a VIP German prisoner in the tower. I wanted to see Stonehenge, but couldn't get enough time off in London before I was due to report here. I saw Hadrian's Wall from the train as we traveled to Scotland.

It's great Paul and Ceil have been posted to the Canal Zone. From what I have heard, the CZ is a cushy post. Since likely the US will get involved in this war, Paul could find himself in worse places in event of conflict.

I have to close now; I have pre-dawn operations tomorrow. Tell everyone hello and kiss little Tommy from Uncle Bobby.

Love, Bobby

Sweetie received this letter in less than a week. She cried as she read it several times, before putting it in the box with the other letters she received from Bobby since he left Bogalusa. Sweetie's life revolved around Tommy and letters from Bobby. When over two weeks passed without a letter from him, she became anxious.

During his posting in Scotland, Bobby vowed to overcome his shyness and make friends with the other instructors on the base. He and his new friends went to pubs after daily operations and scoffed a few ales. Bobby attended local dance halls with his mates who warned him how the "birds" at these dances dropped their knickers for any pilot, and when they heard his southern American accent, they would be all over him. Those prediction turned out to be true. Bobby became popular among the women at the dance halls. He had his choice of women almost every night. He could not take them to his billet, but could bed them at a room in one of the local pubs or at the barracks if he could sneak them past the guards. This continued for several months. Bobby eventually realized he had not made close friends with any of his mates, and had tired of the Scottish women he encountered at the dance halls and pubs, many of whose husbands or fiancés were fighting overseas. After that he generally kept to himself when not on duty.

Bogalusa, Louisiana

September 11, 1941

"Hello?"

"Ciel, this is Sweetie... How's your mother doing?"

"Hi, Sweetie. She's doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances.... I'm sorry I didn't have time to visit with you before Daddy's funeral. It's been a hectic few days."

"Ciel, I understand. I'm just glad you could get back home on such short notice. When will you return to the Canal Zone?"

"I'll stay with Mom for at least two months, helping get Dad's estate settled. I plan to go back to Paul soon after Thanksgiving."

"Great. You and your mom are invited to Thanksgiving with us.

"Ciel, I was calling to tell you my news... I may be pregnant."

"Oh, Sweetie, that's wonderful! I'm sure Harry is excited."

"I haven't told him yet. He's still in the city, but he'll be home this weekend....I'm only a week late now, but I'm sure it's real; I'm never late. I know it'll be a girl this time."

Balboa

Panama Canal Zone

October 22, 1941

Paul was on duty when the orders came through at 0600 hours. It was now 1300 hours; he was off duty for the rest of the day, so he rushed to the Western Union office to send Ciel the news. Upon arrival, he saw the line to the telegraph office stretched around the block; there must have been at least two hundred soldiers waiting their turn to send the same word to their loved ones back home.

Paul knew a better way to get the message to his wife without waiting in line at the telegraph office. He drove his Packard several miles to his friend Raymond's home on a hill in Balboa Heights. Raymond was a civilian employee of the Canal Company. Raymond and his wife, Jill, resided in the Canal Zone for twenty-two years, and although much older than Paul and Vonciel, the four became good friends shortly after Vonciel arrived in the Canal Zone. Paul reached Raymond's large, colonial style mansion at 1:45 p.m., and the maid showed him into the house. Raymond and Jill were in the backyard by the pool under the shade of a palm tree, enjoying a late lunch. Paul explained his situation, and Raymond left half a sandwich uneaten to help his young friend get the news to his wife.

Paul and Raymond went to Raymond's ham radio shack on the second floor, and while Raymond warmed up the equipment, Paul wrote out his message. He handed it to Raymond, who looked it over and observed, "Certainly short notice, isn't it?"

Paul nodded in the affirmative.

Paul remembered a little Morse Code from his Boy Scout days, and could interpret Raymond sending "CQ USA... CQ USA, de KZ5CF" on the twenty-meter ham radio band. After a brief delay, a station in Miami replied, "KZ5CF de W4IG." Raymond and the operator of the answering ham station exchanged greetings and gave each other signal reports as was customary between hams when they first contact one another. Raymond tapped out Paul's message. The Miami ham operator repeated the message back verbatim to make sure he copied the message without error. The two stations signed off with "73" to each other.

The Miami station switched to the forty-meter ham radio band and tuned across the band until he heard a familiar station, W5FK in New Orleans, engaged in communications with another ham. The Miami operator broke into the exchange between the other two hams saying he needed to convey urgent traffic. W5FK ended his communications with the other station at once and copied Paul's message, He repeated it back verbatim to assure he accurately copied the message.

W5FK changed frequencies to the eighty-meter ham radio band and as he anticipated, the local afternoon network traffic was still in progress. He signed in with the net operator and said he had urgent traffic for Bogalusa. W5RRH, a station operated by a ham in Bogalusa, checked into the net earlier and was still monitoring the frequency. He returned to the airwaves and said he could deliver the message. The New Orleans ham tapped out Paul's message, which W5RRH confirmed he received. The Bogalusa ham radio operator typed the message onto a special message pad he recently purchased from the American Radio Relay League. A few minutes before four o'clock Bogalusa time, he called the phone number set out in Paul's message.

"Hello?"

"Is this Mrs. Vonciel Browning?"

"Yes, it is... who is this?"

"Mrs. Browning, I'm Wally Alford, a ham radio operator in the Terrace section of town. I have a message to you from Lieutenant Paul Browning. Do you want me to read it to you?"

"Yes, please," said Vonciel with trepidation.

"Okay, it reads:

'BALBOA, CANAL ZONE. 22 OCTOBER 1941 STOP TO MRS VONCIEL BROWNING 614 WEST SEVENTH STREET BOGALUSA LA PHONE 301R STOP CIEL OUR UNIT HAS BEEN ORDERED TO LEAVE THE CANAL ZONE ON 25 OCTOBER TRAVELING TO SAN FRANCISCO STOP I EXPECT TO ARRIVE SF 04 NOVEMBER WILL THEN EMBARK ON 08 NOVEMBER FOR MANILA PHILIPPINES STOP MEET ME IN SAINT FRANCIS HOTEL IN SF ON 04 NOVEMBER STOP LOVE PAUL STOP.'

"Mrs. Browning, do you want me to bring you a copy of this message?"

"No, just read it again so I can make sure I have the dates correct."

Somewhat disappointed that he would not get to show off his new message pad, Wally read the dispatch to her again. She asked if she could send a reply to Paul, to which Wally replied in the affirmative. She asked Wally to send word to Paul confirming she would meet him at the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco on November 4.

Vonciel thought for a few minutes about what she needed to do to make ready for the trip. She concluded she needed Sweetie's advice.

"Sweetie, Ciel here... I received a message from Paul this afternoon. His unit is being transferred from the Canal Zone to the Philippines!"

"Wow! What a surprise. When?"

"Right away. He wants me to meet him in San Francisco on November 4th. I checked the railroad schedule, and it's a four-day train ride from New Orleans to San Francisco. I guess I should catch the Sunset Limited in the city on November 1st."

"Ciel, I suggest you leave two or even three days earlier. Trains these days often suffer delays and you might miss a connection."

Sweetie looked at the calendar on the wall above the telephone and continued, "Let's you and I take the Rebel to New Orleans on Tuesday, October 28th, stay overnight, and I'll help you get to the Southern Pacific depot to catch the Sunset Limited on Wednesday morning, the 29th. That should put you in San Francisco at least two days ahead of Paul."

"Thanks, Sweetie; you're such a good friend!"

"I'll come by right away and help you pack. Ciel, from what I've read, the Philippines is a great duty station – even better than the Canal Zone. I guess you plan to join Paul over there as soon as you can?"

"Yes, I expect to be going there not long after the first of next year."

Manila, Philippines

December 2, 1941

Paul assembled Company C on deck as the U.S.S. Willard Holbrook approached Manila Harbor. There were only four remaining members of the original Company C who departed Bogalusa on that damp January morning eleven months earlier. More than half the personnel of the original company had been transferred to units remaining in the Canal Zone, and most of the rest were in units being deployed to Hickam Field near Honolulu, Hawaii.

As the ship was docking, Paul could faintly hear a band on shore playing The Stars and Stripes Forever. Paul called the company to attention and marched the company single-file down the gangplank to The Washington Post March played by the Philippine Army Band. Paul followed his company down the narrow gangplank and disembarked last. He reassembled the company a few yards on shore, and noted a major stepping with dispatch towards him. Paul called the unit to attention, did an about face, and saluted the approaching senior officer, who returned the salute.

The major spoke first. "Captain Browning, I presume?"

"No sir, I'm First Lieutenant Browning..."

"No, Captain Browning, orders came through this morning as the Holbrook was docking, promoting you to captain." A murmur of approval could be heard from the company. One of the platoon sergeants hollered, "At ease!" and the whispering ceased.

"Captain Browning, turn your company over to my lieutenant for processing and orientation. Please come with me."

Paul gave the commands and followed the major to the nearby building.

They proceeded to the major's office, and Paul sat in the straight-back chair in front of the desk while the major made himself comfortable in his swivel chair beneath a large picture of President Roosevelt.

"Captain, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Major Fred Vinton, Orientation Officer for the Manila area. I'll introduce you around here, and get you set up with information you need to get started."

"I have a few questions, Major Vinton, but I should get with my company..."

"Your company is fine, Captain. We'll put them through processing and orientation here in Manila, and then transport them to Clark Field. The post commander there will assign them barracks. You'll rejoin them there in a few days... you said you have some questions?"

"Yes, Major. How is the housing situation near Clark? I plan to bring my wife over early next year."

The major didn't answer right away. He pulled a pack of Camel cigarettes from his blouse pocket, offered one to Paul, who accepted, and then lit both cigarettes off one match before answering. "Captain, I guess no one told you, but the Army evacuated our wives and dependents two months ago, except for MacArthur's family. Military planners now consider the Philippines a potential war zone."

Bogalusa, Louisiana

December 6, 1941

"Hello?"

"Hi Sweetie, it's Ciel. Sorry I haven't called you in a week, but it's been busy over here. I have to help my mother settle everything. How are you and Tommy doing?"

"We're both doing okay, Ciel. I still get a touch of morning sickness, but otherwise I'm doing well. How's your mother coping with everything?"

"She's doing well, overall... We're to meet with our lawyer, Mr. Barton, next week. He is preparing the paperwork for Mom and me to sell the drug store to the Justin brothers. She thought Paul might take over the pharmacy, but he hasn't received his pharmacist's license yet, and we're not sure when he may get out of the Army... I was calling to see if you wanted to go to the show tonight. The new Abbot and Costello movie Keep 'Em Flying, will be the late show at the Ritz."

"Sure, Ciel, that sounds swell. Since I'm carrying Harry's new draft exemption now, he stays in the City most weekends."

"Oh. Well, I have good news to tell you..."

"Let me guess. I bet you're expecting?"

"I think so, but I'm not positive yet."

"That's great, Ciel! We'll deliver only a few months apart. It'll be so much fun raising our daughters together... Have you told Paul yet?"

"No. Next week maybe, once I'm certain, I'll send him a cable. Um, I have bad news too."

"What bad news, Ciel?"

"I got a cable from Paul yesterday... the Army isn't letting the wives join their husbands in the Philippines. They're worried a war with Japan might involve the Philippines."

"Too bad. I know the Japs are fighting in China, but I've read nothing indicating a war might involve the Philippines. We have many troops there, and the Filipino Army is well trained and well-armed... Any idea how long Paul will be deployed?"

"He told me to expect him to be there a whole year, although he was in the Canal Zone for only ten months. Maybe the Army will cut short his posting there."

"We can talk about it more later. I'll pick you up tonight at eight o'clock."

Aberdeen Scotland, 8:35 pm (local time)

December 7, 1941

Bobby sat alone in the White Swan Pub since finishing operations a few hours earlier, in the farthest corner, drinking his third scotch, neat, and chain-smoking Dunhill cigarettes. Several flight instructors he recognized rushed into the pub in an agitated state, shouting about something. Bobby could not hear what they were saying, but could tell something was exciting them. One man in the group spotted Bobby and approached his table.

"Yank, the Japs just attacked your Navy in the Pacific, a place called Pearl Harbor! Now you Yanks will get into the fight in a big way!"

"Where did y'all hear that?"

"We heard it on the BBC; every newscaster is talking about the attack. Why doesn't Blane have the radio on in here? Do you think you might see action now?"

"Did the BBC give any details about the attack? What did the Japs hit? Did they say how many casualties?"

Blane, the pub landlord, turned on the radio. Bobby and the rest of the patrons crowded around the bar in rapt attention to the newscast. After an hour of hearing nothing other than the attack had occurred, Bobby left the pub, thinking he should check in at operations HQ to see if the RAF had more news than the BBC.

Bogalusa, Louisiana – 11:35 p.m. (CST)

December 7, 1941

"Hello, Ciel. Did I wake you?"

"Hi, Sweetie. No, who can get to sleep tonight after what happened today? Those poor sailors at Pearl Harbor..."

"Ciel... I... Ciel, Pops and I have been listening to the news on shortwave. Ciel, the Japs have attacked the Philippines!"

There was a brief pause, then a breathless: "Oh no. Did they say anything about casualties?"

"No, the only thing they said was that the Japs bombed an airbase and Manila Harbor. They reported nothing about casualties or damage.... Ciel, do you want me to come be with you tonight?"

"Yes, please. I'm all by myself. I need someone."

Sweetie got to Vonciel's in less than fifteen minutes. Vonciel met her at the door. "Have you heard any more news about the attack?"

"No, the news on the car radio only mentions Pearl Harbor. Nothing's been said about the Philippines. Pops and I heard the report from a Singapore shortwave broadcast station."

The women stayed up most of the night, tuning the radio bands, trying to get news about the attack on the Philippines; but the only details the newscasts reported were about Pearl Harbor. As dawn approached, Sweetie said, "Ciel, come live with us. Harry's never home, and when he is, he prefers to sleep in the spare room. We can share the big bed in my room. Melba and I can help you through your pregnancy, and the clinic is only three blocks away. I don't believe your mother can be much help to you."

"Yes, I'd like that. When can we, meaning me and this one," she rubbed her belly, "move there?"

"I'm sure you can move in at once. Just let me clear it with Pops and Mama Ola tomorrow... or rather, later this morning."

Vonciel thought for a short time and cried out, "I have to get a message to Paul right away, to let him know we're expecting a baby!"

"We'll go to Western Union as soon as it opens and see if we can get a message to him."

When they arrived at the Western Union office later that morning, there were at least a hundred people trying to get messages to loved ones in Hawaii and the Philippines. The office manager already posted a sign saying all traffic to and from Hawaii and the Philippines was down until further notice. Vonciel called Wally Alford, the ham radio operator who delivered her the message from Paul, to see if it was possible to get word to Paul, only to learn the government silenced the ham frequencies immediately after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. There would be no ham radio operations until after the war.

Bogalusa, Louisiana

April 10, 1942

Sweetie opened the door to the room she shared with Vonciel. "Ciel, are you awake?"

"No, I can't fall asleep. What time is it?"

"It's ten minutes until midnight. Ciel, you better come listen to the news. Pops and I have been listening to shortwave broadcasts, and you need to hear something the newscasters are saying."

"What is it, bad news?"

"Put on your robe and come with me into the living room."

They walked into the living room together, and they saw Mr. Glass sitting next to the radio with his head close to the speaker. Vonciel could hear nothing but static. Vonciel spoke up, "What are they saying?"

Mr. Glass answered, "The shortwave services have reported bad news. All American and Filipino troops on Bataan have surrendered to the Japs."

Vonciel felt weak at the knees, and sat in one of the stuffed chairs. "What... How... I thought the Navy would rescue them!"

Sweetie said, "Let me get you a glass of water. Sit still, we don't want your baby to get too excited."

Mr. Glass added, "The Navy suffered too much damage at Pearl Harbor to mount a task force with sufficient strength to attempt a rescue."

"I know in my heart Paul is okay, but I wish I could find out for sure," Ciel cried.

"He still doesn't know he'll be a daddy soon!"

Bogalusa, Louisiana

September 9, 1942

"Ciel, Ciel... Look what was just delivered here!"

"What is it?"

"It's a telegram addressed to you from the War Department. It has your old address on West Seventh Street, but the delivery boy knew you moved in with us."

"Let me see it! It can't be good news, can it? Don't they send telegrams to let you know someone has been killed?" Vonciel trembled as she sat down, holding the envelope. She hesitated for a few seconds, then tore it open with trembling hands. Sweetie read it over her shoulder:

WESTERN UNION

09 SEPTEMBER 1942

FROM DEPARTMENT OF WAR OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

WASHINGTON DC

TO MRS PAUL BROWNING

614 WEST SEVENTH STREET

BOGALUSA LOUISIANA

PHONE 301R STOP

THIS IS TO INFORM YOU THE INTERNATIONAL RED CROSS HAS RECEIVED INFORMATION THAT PAUL R BROWNING SERIAL NUMBER AA52655125 IS BEING HELD AS A PRISONER OF WAR BY THE IMPERIAL JAPANESE ARMY. WE HAVE RECEIVED NO INFORMATION AS TO HIS WHEREABOUTS OR HIS CONDITION STOP

WE WILL NOTIFY YOU IF WE RECEIVE FURTHER INFORMATION STOP

DEPARTMENT OF WAR OF THE UNITED STATES

CHESTER COLLINS DEPUTY SECRETARY STOP

"Ciel, this means he's alive." She spoke with excitement in her voice, and so loudly she woke both babies.

Vonciel had tears in her eyes, but looked happier than Sweetie had seen her in months. When a wailing started up in the nursery, Sweetie said, "We better go check on our little girls."
Chapter 5

Avondale Shipyards

New Orleans, Louisiana

July 2, 1943

In his office near the main assembly area, Harry enjoyed a smoke break and a cup of coffee. His skills as a welder and his outgoing personality earned him a promotion to foreman. He shared the office with four other foremen, but each had a desk to himself. He leaned comfortably in his chair while keeping an eye on the welders for whom he was responsible working their tasks which he could observe through a large observation window. He hated this job.

Over the past few weeks since earning his promotion, he spent time reflecting on his life and future. This defense job and being the father of two children exempted him from the draft, so he would not end up in a miserable foxhole in a south Pacific jungle getting his ass shot off. He earned good money, which together with the monthly benefits he received from the trust fund his grandfather established for him was more than adequate to support his lifestyle. His income also sufficed to provide his New Orleans woman a rented bungalow in the mid-city area of the city.

He visited Gertie several times a week at her cozy abode. Gertie was a living doll, and knew how to please him. She claimed she was nineteen, but looked younger. Many people called her trashy. Having grown up in rural Mississippi, her speech was "country," her lipstick was too red, and she often used too much makeup on her face, but she was fun and vivacious. She donned flashy clothes which showed ample cleavage, and Harry liked how she drew attention whenever he took her places.

He thought about Sweetie. She was independent and knew how to take care of herself. She dressed elegantly in the most stylish clothes. Her hair was always perfect, although, he thought to himself, the platinum blonde color will have to go. Most people said she was a beautiful woman. Her skills and talents were numerous: she was organized, efficient, and handled any problems she faced adroitly. When she wore her stylish clothes, her body appeared slim, and she showed a good figure.

Harry was not sure how he felt about her. He no longer loved her, and told himself he never felt any real romantic love towards. He married her only because it was the right thing to do. The two had not engaged in sex since before Lucille's birth, and he felt no desire for her. Having seen Sweetie nude only once since the second baby's birth, he could only describe his emotion as, repulsion. In his opinion the beauty he admired in her before Tommy's birth long since vanished. Her abdomen showed stretch marks, and her tits sagged like an old woman's. He was aware, however, how Sweetie's bearing and elegance could be an asset in achieving his future plans.

Harry did not keep up with the war news to the same extent as Sweetie and his dad; his only sources of information about the war came from the occasional newscasts he heard on the car radio and from the MovieTone news clips he saw when he and Gertie went to the movies. But, based on his limited knowledge, he knew the Allies should win this war within two years, or maybe three at the most. He entertained political ambitions, and it did not take a genius to realize one needed a good service record to get elected to public office after the war.

He thought about what he needed to do. He snuffed out his cigarette and made a long-distance call to Sweetie over the shipyard's phone.

RAF Fraserburgh

Scotland

July 5, 1943

Bobby was nervous, so he took two deep breaths then knocked on the door with some authority.

"Come in!"

Bobby walked into the office, gave a snappy British salute, and said, "Flight Lieutenant Robert Howe reporting as ordered, sir!"

The Wing Commander returned the salute in a rather perfunctory manner and said, "Yes, Flight Lieutenant, at ease... Please sit, I will be with you in a short time."

The Wing Commander continued to read papers on his desk and signed a few of them. It was the first time Bobby had been in the Wing Commander's office, and he took notice of how small and austere it was for an officer of such rank. A large picture of Winston Churchill hung behind the Wing Commander's chair, and there was a picture on the opposite wall of a French Nieuport 11 biplane with British insignia, which Bobby assumed the Wing Commander flew in World War I. Maps and charts filled the remaining wall space.

While the Wing Commander continued reading and signing documents, Bobby studied him. He had seen Wing Commander Sir Thomas Inkwell only from a distance around the base from time to time, always strutting and carrying a riding crop. Bobby pegged him as somewhat pompous, but many of the officers from the British upper class which Bobby encountered acted in that manner. Sir Thomas was a distinguished fighter pilot in World War I.

The Wing Commander picked at his bushy moustache as he read another report. Bobby sat in silence until the Wing Commander finished and buzzed his aide to come pick up the completed paper work. He looked to Bobby and said, "Flight Lieutenant, would you like tea?" Bobby accepted, and the Wing Commander instructed the aide to bring the service.

Sir Thomas got to the point without delay. "You submitted another request through Squadron Leader Thompson for transfer to a forward aerodrome, and specified on the transfer request you want to fly combat missions in a Spitfire or one of the new Mustangs the RAF is receiving from you Yanks. Am I correct?"

Bobby swallowed again and answered, "Yes sir. I think I have skills to best serve the war effort by being in an active combat role..."

Sir Thomas interrupted, "I see from your record you achieved eleven kills in the North Africa Theatre flying a Tomahawk. That is most commendable, Flight Lieutenant."

"Yes sir, although for a few of my kills I was flying a Hurricane."

"Yes, yes... the RAF commanders in that theatre considered you the best pilot among the South Africans attached to the RAF units there."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate the recognition, but doesn't my record suggest I may be more valuable serving in a combat role?"

"Flight Lieutenant, your superiors rate you as the best instructor at this base. Pilots you train perform better in combat and have a better chance of surviving dogfights than pilots trained by any other instructor here. That is of great value to us."

The aide knocked on the door and brought the tea service into the room. Bobby and Sir Thomas sat without speaking while the aide poured and fixed the tea to their liking.

As they sipped their tea, Sir Thomas continued, "Flight Lieutenant, considering the valuable role you play here, we will not pass your request for transfer any higher. I'm sorry. You will continue to serve as an advanced aerial combat techniques instructor at this aerodrome."

"Yes sir, very good. May I inquire whether the RAF might transfer me to the American Air Force?"

"Flight Lieutenant, a number of our experienced American pilots recently transferred to the US Army Eighth Air Force. There is a protocol between our two countries to allow such transfers. However, there are certain provisions, one of which allows the RAF to retain pilots with particularly valuable skills. You are one such pilot we wish to hold on to for the time being. However, if our American allies specifically requested your transfer through proper channels, Fighter Command will give upmost serious consideration to any such request. Now, is there anything else?"

"No sir."

"You are dismissed, Flight Lieutenant."

Bobby rose and snapped to attention; he gave a smart salute which Sir Thomas answered in a somewhat lackadaisical manner. Bobby executed an about face and exited the office.

Leaving the headquarters building, he paused to light a Lucky Strike cigarette from a pack one of the Americans at the nearby Eight Air Force base gave him, and thought for a few minutes. He put out feelers with a Major at the American base to see if they would request his transfer, but nothing seems to have come from that contact.

Hurrying to the communications Quonset hut, he borrowed one of their bicycles and pedaled the two-and-a-half miles to his billet. Neither of his hosts was at home, so he climbed the narrow stairway to his bedsitter in the loft, retrieved his writing tablet, a pad, and pencil and wrote a letter to Sweetie. He picked two stamps out of his desk drawer, affixed the proper postage on the envelope then deposited the letter into the bright red Royal Mail receptacle near the village green. The hell with approval from the censors, he thought to himself. Sweetie should receive this letter within a week or less.

He pedaled back to the base and returned the bike to the rack from which he had taken it.

Cabanatuan POW Camp

Philippines

July 8, 1943

"Doc, Andy's in bad shape. Can you help?"

Paul was as sick as anyone else in their hut, but dragged himself out of his bunk to see what he might do for Andy, who was suffering from malaria, as were most of the men in the camp. Private Andy Spaven was one of the youngest prisoners in the camp, having joined the National Guard a few days after his sixteenth birthday in his hometown of Minot, North Dakota. A few months after he enlisted, the Army called his unit into service. Andy suffered the symptoms of malaria off and on for several weeks.

Paul reached into the straw which served as a mattress for his bunk and retrieved a stained envelope containing his last few quinine tables. Quinine tablets, the only effective remedy for malaria, were surreptitiously gathered by local Filipinos and handed to POWs working outside the compound. The Japanese would execute any Filipinos caught passing these tablets to the Americans, and would administer savage beatings to Americans found to possess them.

. The Japanese did not separate the officers and the enlisted men, so Paul was one of the two officers among the 36 prisoners in Hut 19C. The other officer, Captain Rodgers, served longer time in grade than Paul, thus assumed the role of Officer in Command. He sought and respected Paul's advice on matters of importance.

There was a camp hospital staffed by two Army doctor POWs. Trained medics lived in many of the huts in the camp, but there were no trained medics in Hut 19C, so Paul, with two years of college pre-med studies, took on that role in his hut. Paul completed two zoology labs in college, where he dissected a frog and a cat, but those labs were the only medical training he received. A few days earlier, an army doctor at the camp hospital, with Paul aiding him, operated on a prisoner from Paul's hut for appendicitis. The patient was making a satisfactory recovery, provided he could avoid infection from the dirty surroundings. Under the circumstances, Paul appreciated the sobriquet "Doc." More and more he regretted his decision to drop out of pre-med studies.

Paul reached Andy's bunk. Two of his mates were nearby, offering encouragement. Paul found Andy was experiencing severe tremors, was soaked with sweat, and felt hot to the touch. Paul asked for a cup of water to give Andy two quinine tablets. He instructed one mate to wipe Andy down with a wet rag to bring down the fever. Paul struggled back to his bunk, hid the envelope containing the few remaining quinine tables, and crawled into his bunk.

He closed his eyes and thought about his wife as he so often did during his captivity. He thought about his four friends and his mother. Shortly, he drifted off to sleep.

Less than two hours later he awoke to loud voices, and he heard shouts from outside the hut. He sat up and asked what was going on. One prisoner exclaimed, "The Nip camp commander is in the parade area with several men and women with Red Cross arm bands! They look like Americans, but I guess they could be Limeys."

Paul pulled himself over to the screenless window and saw what was going on for himself. Japanese guards were approaching each hut, ordering the prisoners to fall in for roll-call. The men trudged out to the dusty parade area and lined up. Andy having recovered somewhat from his malaria attack, and with the help of his mates, lined up in formation and stood at attention. Captain Rodgers assumed his position in front of the men from Hut 19C. The camp commander barked orders in Japanese. A few of the prisoners understood a little of the language, but did not let on since they remembered how the Japanese executed several prisoners in a brutal manner on the march from Bataan to Camp O'Donnell, when they discovered a few American captives understood some of their language.

One of the Red Cross ladies stepped forward. "Men of Camp Cabanatuan, I am Lucinda Graves with the International Red Cross. The Japanese authorities have graciously allowed us to visit this camp to provide each of you with a small gift package containing a few items including soap, razor, washcloth, package of cigarettes, two pairs of socks, a tube of toothpaste, and a tin of salted meat, which I believe you refer to as 'Spam'." The men broke out in laughter, but a stern command in Japanese from the camp commander silenced everyone. She continued, "We have postcards for some of the prisoners. I regret we do not have them for everyone, but we hope by our next visit the rest of you can receive words from home."

The Japanese never allowed the Red Cross representatives to come to Camp Cabanatuan again, although they permitted gift packages for the prisoners each Christmas.

Word spread among the prisoners not to open the packages right away. It was possible the Japanese would confiscate them as soon as the Red Cross left, and would beat any prisoner who possessed an opened package. The Japanese choose not to confiscate the packages, however, and the POWs opened them not long after the Red Cross representatives departed.

Mrs. Graves called out the names of the men for whom they had postcards. To his surprise, Paul's name was one of the first called. He stepped forward facing one of the Japanese guards who spoke and read fluent English. The guard read the message to assure it contained no information to be censored, and being satisfied as to the content, handed the card to Paul. He read it as he walked back to the ranks. There was only a small box outlined on the card for the message. It read: "Paul, we miss you. We both hope the war will be over soon. Love, Ciel and Paula." Paul could not fathom who Paula was at first... But as he returned to his position in the ranks, he understood what the message meant.

I'm a father, he thought wonderingly. I can't believe it – I'm a father. Ciel got pregnant from those few days of bliss in San Francisco! He realized Vonciel, likely with help from Sweetie, disguised the message. If she said he was a new father, the Japanese might not have let him receive the postcard. They wanted no news which might boost morale getting to the prisoners.

The Red Cross lady was speaking again. Paul missed the first part of her spiel, but at once paid attention to what she was saying.

"... you can take these blank postcards to your huts during the next hour and fill them out. There are several boxes you can check if you believe the phrases corresponding to each box describe your experience as a POW of the Imperial Japanese Army. There is one line for you to write a personal message to your loved ones. Please write nothing of a sensitive nature, or else the Japanese authorities will not allow the card to be sent to your next of kin. Please put your full name, rank and service number on the front of the card, and the International Red Cross will forward them on to your designated next of kin."

The prisoners of Hut 19C received their cards and rushed into the hut. Paul called for everybody's attention. "I recommend you check all three boxes and keep your one line of greeting harmless. Otherwise the Nips won't turn your postcard over to the Red Cross."

There were two nubby pencils available in the hut, so it took almost the whole hour for all the men to finish. Paul was the last to fill out his card. He checked all three boxes and wrote a message he was sure would tell Vonciel he understood her message.

RAF Fraserburgh

Scotland

September 9, 1943

Bobby was grinning as he approached the Wing Commander's office door. He thought he knew what the Wing Commander would tell him. Taking two deep breaths and fixing a neutral look on his face, and knocked with authority. "Come in," Sir Thomas barked.

"Flight Lieutenant Robert Howe reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease, Flight Lieutenant. Please remain standing. This will take but a moment... I have within the last hour received orders from Fighter Command signed by Air Marshall Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory himself, ordering you to be mustered out of the RAF forthwith, with further instructions for you to report to the Deputy Naval Attaché at the American Embassy in London tomorrow for induction into the United States Navy. You must sign a few documents at the orderly's desk as you depart here, and once you have signed the forms, your separation from the RAF will be official."

Sir Thomas stood up, walked around his desk, and shook Bobby's hand. "Commendable job, Flight Lieutenant. Sorry there are no medals for instructors, but I will place a letter of commendation in your jacket. Good flying, Flight Lieutenant, and leave some of those bloody Japs for us to finish off. You are dismissed."

Bobby signed a half-dozen papers at the orderly's desk. He did not read any of them; all he could think of was he would soon fly combat missions again. He rushed to his billet to pack his meager belongings and bid his hosts farewell. He caught the next train from Aberdeen to Paddington Station in London.

Bogalusa, Louisiana

September 14, 1943

Vonciel was sitting at the breakfast table having a second cup of coffee, chatting with Melba, who was finishing up the breakfast dishes. Sweetie walked into the room holding an envelope and said, "Ciel, look what came in the morning mail. It's for you."

Vonciel looked at her friend and said, "Who sent it?"

Sweetie handed her the envelope and smiled.

Vonciel noticed the return address was the International Red Cross in San Francisco. She hesitated for a moment before opening it. There was a brief letter from the Red Cross, but what most interested her was the tattered postcard from Paul. Sweetie was impatient, and demanded, "What does it say?"

"Here, read it for yourself."

Sweetie looked at the frontside. Written in pencil, somewhat smeared, it contained Paul's full name, his rank and his military service number. On the backside, also in smeared pencil, Paul checked three boxes and wrote a one-line personal note. Sweetie read the note a few times, looked over at Vonciel, and said, "He understood your message."

Vonciel could only nod her head.

The three boxes Paul checked read: "I am well;" "We are well nourished;" and "We are treated in a humane way." Paul's personal note read, "Ciel and Paula, I miss and love both of you. Paul."

That would be the only message Vonciel would receive from Paul while he was in captivity.

Vonciel read the postcard several times, and looked up at Sweetie. "Do you think the Japs are treating them humanely?"

"Yes, I'm sure the Japs are treating our boys okay. You've seen MovieTone news reels about how we treat the German prisoners. I'm sure the Japs are doing the same thing with our boys."

Sweetie knew better. A week before at the library, she read an article in the New York Times recounting how Filipino nationals passed intelligence to the American Army as to the appalling treatment the American prisoners were receiving, including executions, beatings, deprivations, and more. Sweetie didn't think Vonciel needed to know these things. She would find out how Paul and his fellow prisoners suffered at the hands of the Japanese at a later date.

Pensacola, Florida

November 17, 1943

Bobby, still donning an RAF uniform, remained in his seat until everyone else vacated the train car. He retrieved his duffel bag from the overhead rack, positioned it over his left shoulder, and exited onto the concrete walkway. As he walked towards the depot, he noticed an attractive woman about twenty-five yards up the walkway; stooping and talking with a small boy standing next to her. The woman looked very stylish in a red flared dress with white polka dots, gloves, and a small red pillbox hat atop her platinum blonde hair. She said something to the child and pointed in Bobby's direction. The boy ran towards Bobby, and when he was a few feet away, Bobby dropped his duffel bag as the boy jumped into his arms and hollered, "Uncle Bobby, Uncle Bobby!" He recognized the woman running towards him as Sweetie.

She cried out, "Bobby!" and grabbed both him and Tommy in a tight bear hug. She cried, waving her gloved hands in front of her face, and could say nothing else.

"Sweetie, how did you know I would be on this train?" he finally managed to say.

She was still sobbing, unable to speak. She tried to control herself; she waved her hands at him, but all she could say was "Bobby."

She released Bobby and Tommy from her grip, and reached into her purse for a hanky to dry her eyes and blow her nose. Bobby put Tommy down and squatted to see him face-to-face. "Big boy, come around and get on my back. I'll let you ride me like a horsey." Tommy grabbed Bobby around the neck and hoisted himself onto Bobby's back. Bobby used both arms to stabilize him, and trotted up and down the walkway while Sweetie was composing herself.

Sweetie blew her nose one last time, and appeared to be okay. "Sweetie, I told you in my letter I wasn't sure when I would arrive in Pensacola. I said it might be the sixteenth, seventeenth, or even the eighteenth. I planned to take off these few days before I'm due to report and hitchhike home. I was not expecting anyone to meet me here; but here you are. How did you know I would be on this train?"

"I knew you would arrive on a train from either Atlanta or Jacksonville. I met all trains from those cities yesterday, and this is the fourth train Tommy and I met today. I didn't want to miss you... Let's walk to the car." She picked up his duffel bag and said, "This bag isn't heavy. Is this all you have?"

"Yeah, there's my second RAF uniform, two U.S. Navy flight suits and a few changes of underwear. I lost my civvies and the rest of my stuff when we evacuated one of our forward bases in Libya in a hurry. I never bothered replacing those items."

"The Navy didn't give you a uniform in Washington?"

"No, they said I would get a full complement of uniforms here. They could have issued me Naval uniforms, but kept me there longer than anticipated."

"Well, come on. I'll carry this for you, and you keep toting Tommy."

"Sweetie, you look great; like a million dollars."

"Thanks. I'm upbeat when I know I look good, but Harry wants me to tone down my hair. He thinks it makes me look too brassy."

"I like it."

Tommy spoke up, "Uncle Bobby, did you fly your spits fire over here?"

Sweetie explained, "I framed the picture you sent us of you in a flight suit standing by the Spitfire. Tommy wanted it on the wall in his room, and says the photo is his Uncle Bobby and his spits fire."

"I sometimes flew Spitfires in Scotland, but no, I didn't fly one over here. I came by ship, a Navy destroyer, from England to Norfolk, Virginia. I stayed in Washington for several weeks. Part of the time I was there Navy doctors poked me all over, and part of the time I told a lot of Navy men what I was doing during the past few years since I last saw your mother. After they finished with me, I took the train from Washington to Pensacola, and that's how I met you and your mother at this railroad station."

He looked at Sweetie and said, "Naval Intelligence quizzed me thoroughly about my activities, particularly they were interested in what I was doing in Argentina and Germany before the war. At first it looked like G2 was going to disqualify me for service, but I learned my old friend José O'Higgins was Naval Attaché at the Argentine Embassy. He spent two days answering questions about my role in Argentina and Germany, satisfying Intelligence. I got the clearances I need to fly for the Navy."

Even as he was talking, Bobby could feel Tommy slumping. With Sweetie's help, he shifted him around to his front so he could carry him. "Where are Harry and Lucille?"

"Melba and Ciel are watching Lucille. I'm sure I told you Ciel moved in with us at the Glass's. I'll tell you more about Harry after while."

"How did you get here? I need transportation to the naval air station to see if they have room for me in the Visiting Officers Quarters."

"I drove the old roadster. Remember how the five of us had so much fun driving that car everywhere in high school? Don't worry about the VOQ. I rented a cabin at a tourist court convenient to the beach and not far from the air station. Tommy and I have half the cabin and you have the other half. We share a bath, but the doors lock for privacy... I am so excited to see you. When do you report for duty?"

"I report in five days... Monday the twenty-second. I expect to be at this post for two weeks, getting flight time in the new Hellcat fighter the Navy is putting into service. I logged a few hours of flight in that bird at the Navy base in Annapolis."

"Great! We'll have a long weekend to talk and go over old times. Tommy and I will stay the entire two weeks with you. The three of us will have a good time."

"Sweetie, I don't know what kind of schedule I'll be facing. I may have night operations and may even be out of the area for two or three days at a time..."

"That won't matter to us; Tommy and I will sit on the beach and I'll read to him while you're on duty. There's a radio in our side of the cabin, so we can listen to news and music if you're away... Bobby, you don't have any civilian clothes; we'll find a shop near here and buy you a new civilian outfit."

Sweetie lifted and stowed Bobby's duffel bag in the rumble seat with little effort, while Bobby, still holding a sleeping Tommy, eased into the passenger seat of the roadster, saying, "This car brings back so many memories of the good times we had together."

Later, Bobby unlocked his side of the cabin while still holding Tommy, then unlocked Sweetie's side. They both entered Sweetie's quarters and laid Tommy on the bed. Sweetie said, "Bobby, we missed you so much. Tommy has never seen you till now, but he talks about you all the time. He tells everyone that when he grows up, he will fly spits fires like his Uncle Bobby."

"What about Harry? Does Tommy talk about his dad?"

"No, Harry has almost nothing to do with the children. I lied to you in my earlier letters when I said he was a good father. He's indifferent towards them; he only wanted them as draft exemptions."

"What's Harry doing? You said you would tell me about him..."

"Harry is finishing the first month of a three-month OCS program somewhere in Illinois. He'll be a ninety-day wonder, and the Navy will commission him as an Ensign when he completes the program."

"Good old Harry; I knew he was patriotic."

She snorted. "Oh, Bobby, not in the least; all he cares about is having a service record so he can run for public office after the war. Pops lined him up a job in the Pentagon; he'll be in the Naval Congressional Liaison Office. He wants me to tone down my hair and dress in demure styles to appear as the supportive wife for his political efforts."

"How did he get such a comfy job?" Bobby wondered.

"The same way you received a transfer into the U.S. Navy – Pops. Mr. Glass called in some favors from Senator Andrews, who wields a lot of clout within the Department of the Navy. They were classmates at Tulane Law School. Pops is extremely pleased you're returning to America; you've always been a favorite of his.

"Can you believe Harry called me long distance from New Orleans asking if I would talk with his dad on his behalf? He wanted me to tell Pops he'd learned his lesson about hard work and the value of education, but entertained big plans for himself and his family. I told him to stand up to his father for himself. He did so after more prodding by me, and Pops called in more favors from Senator Andrews.... Bobby, we're old friends; we go back to kindergarten. Can I confide in you?"

"Sure, Sweetie," Bobby said with some hesitation, not knowing what to expect.

She focused on the wall in front of her, rather than looking at Bobby, and said, "Bobby, Harry and I haven't lived as man and wife for over two years, not since Lucille's conception. He keeps a woman in New Orleans and thinks we don't know what he's doing. She puts notes to him in his trouser pockets, which he brings home about once a month for Melba and me to launder." She paused, still staring at the wall. Bobby, also staring at the wall, had nothing to say. They heard Tommy stirring, so they jumped out of their chairs to check on him, and neither broached this subject again.

They played with Tommy for a time, and while it was still daylight took a short walk on the beach with him. The weather was chilly, so they did not stay outdoors long. Tommy fell back to sleep when they returned to the cabin. Sweetie said he would be good for the night, since he had been up so early the past two days to meet the trains. Bobby poured each a scotch from the bottle Pops sent with Sweetie to toast his return to America. She added a little water to hers, while Bobby took his neat. Even with the water, she could not drink it tepid; so, Bobby walked to Cabin One, which belonged to Mrs. Roberts, the owner of the tourist court. She gave Bobby a few ice cubes from her refrigerator for Sweetie's drink. They each lit a Lucky Strike, touched glasses, and toasted the other's health and good fortune.

The two friends stayed awake the entire night talking. After several hours of discussing old times, Bobby got somewhat serious and related how Roddy Hewitt, the only friend he made since leaving Bogalusa, ditched his Hurricane in the Mediterranean Sea; and a search by the Royal Navy in the area where he went down failed to locate him. Bobby confessed his guilt for leaving his friend in the Mediterranean. "I should have ditched my plane there too. I knew I might not have enough fuel to reach the base. The two of us together would have survived until the Royal Navy destroyer arrived and rescued both of us."

"No, Bobby, what would have happened is both of you would have died. You survived, and can do something after the war to preserve his memory."

Bobby related how he crash-landed on the African coast, his capture by the Italians and his rescue by Commonwealth troops a few weeks later. That narrative upset Sweetie since Bobby's letters failed to disclose the full extent of his injuries and capture. In a somber tone, he recounted how the Italians took his watch and his leather picture holder. Sweetie offered to get him another Kodak of her and Tommy. He explained the leather holder also contained the only photograph he possessed of his mother and father. Sweetie touched him on the arm in silence; no words could convey her sorrow.

After a few minutes of both sitting with neither saying a word, she expressed how she reacted to the cablegram from the South African Fighter Command advising he was missing. She revealed the depression she underwent when she thought he was dead, and the exhilaration she experienced when she received the letter written by the Scottish nurse.

They discussed Paul's plight, and how Vonciel was handling the situation. Despite these few serious subjects, the conversation during most of the night was light and cheerful. They were still talking and laughing when the sun came up.

Neither finished their first drink.

The two weeks passed quickly. Every morning, Sweetie took Bobby to the base to meet the 0600 roll-call, and every evening she picked him up at 1800 hours at the gate, except on the two occasions when Bobby finished operations late. Most evenings, Bobby was too tired to do anything but relax on the sofa in Sweetie's room, but one night the three of them saw a movie. Most theaters in town were screening war movies; Guadalcanal Diary with Lloyd Nolan and William Bendix was showing at a nearby theater. Bobby did not want to see a war movie, so they opted for Girl Crazy with Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland.

The final Friday evening, Bobby walked through the gate a few minutes after 1800 hours. Sweetie was alone in the roadster. Bobby asked, "Where's Tommy?"

"Mrs. Roberts is keeping him tonight. We are going dancing."

Bobby admired her outfit; she wore a blue navy-style blouse with the flap over the back, a white pleated skirt, a sailor hat cocked to the side in her usual trademark manner, sheer stockings, and flat shoes suitable for dancing.

Bobby protested, "Sweetie, I've forgotten how to dance..."

"Oh, nonsense; that's something you don't forget. You were a good dancer in high school when we rolled back the rug at Paul's house, and all those times you escorted me to the sock hops and proms. We'll dance the same steps we did back then. Tonight, you hold my hand, do beginner footwork, and in no time, you'll recall how we used to dance together. Mrs. Roberts told me of a dancehall nearby featuring a swing band catering to a good clientele. Setups can be purchased at the bar, but we have to bring our own bottle. We still have more than a half bottle of the scotch Pops sent to you. We'll have a blast for your last night here."

"Well, let's go by the cabin and let me change into my new civvies."

"No indeed, you look handsome in your new Navy uniform. I want to show you off tonight."

Bobby showed ample adroitness on the dance floor, having much practice at the dancehalls in Scotland, a fact he did not tell Sweetie. She actually danced circles around him. She held one of his hands and danced around him, kicking her feet and waving her free hand in the air while her pleated skirt flowed outward. Sweetie became the center of attention on the dance floor. Twice men in civilian clothes with military haircuts tried to "cut in" on Bobby, but Sweetie made it clear she wanted no one cutting in as they danced. While the two sat out a dance, a uniformed man approached and asked Bobby in a polite manner if he could jitterbug with Sweetie. This man, a Navy petty officer, should have known better than to horn in on an officer's date, but men outnumbered women by a large margin at the dancehall and the petty officer was obviously inebriated. Bobby could have summoned the Shore Patrol personnel working the club to evict the man but Sweetie politely told him she was only dancing with her "beau" tonight since he was shipping out the next morning and he walked away. Later a Marine Lance Corporal who had way too much to drink, acted like he might make trouble, but backed down when he sensed Bobby was not one to challenge.

The last dance before midnight was a slow number; Sweetie held Bobby tight as they danced to We'll Meet Again, the female vocalist sounding much like Vera Lynn as she belted out that song.

We'll meet again

Don't know where

Don't know when

But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

Keep smiling through

Just like you always do

'Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away

They continued their embrace for several seconds after the music ended and the lights in the dancehall were turned on. Bobby could feel Sweetie's sobs. When they separated, she didn't face him, but walked to their table, took her hanky out of her purse, and blew her nose. Although most of the crowd was filing for the exit, several members of the band played Goodnight, Sweetheart, Till We Meet Tomorrow while the songstress sang the melody in a soft voice. The band soon finished the song and left the stage. Bobby and Sweetie were among the last to leave the dance hall. They held hands as they walked to the car.

As they were driving back to the tourist court, Bobby asked, "Are we picking up Tommy tonight?"

"No, he's already asleep at Mrs. Roberts'. I'll take you to the base in time to answer your 0500 muster. After I drop you off, I'll pick him up and check out of the cabin..."

"I'd like to see him again before I ship out for Seattle tomorrow. It may be a while before I get back this way."

"Okay, we can arise a few minutes early and let him ride to the base with us."

Sweetie parked in front of the cabin, and Bobby started to unlock the door to his side. Sweetie grabbed him by the arm and said, "Come in to my side. We can talk a while. There's no telling how long it will be before we see each other again. There is enough Scotch in the bottle for one more drink apiece."

Bobby sat on the small sofa in the cabin while Sweetie fixed each a drink; Bobby's neat, and hers with a little water. Tonight, she drank it without ice. She removed her shoes and sat next to him. She sat sideways with one knee on the sofa and faced his as they each lit a cigarette, and clinked glasses to toast their last night together. They engaged in small talk, and when they both bent over to flick their cigarette ash into the ash tray, they bumped heads and laughed. Sweetie put her arm around Bobby and they faced each other.

They kissed. The kiss lingered and became more passionate. Finally, Bobby pulled away and said, "Sweetie, we can't..."

Sweetie didn't answer; she pulled him close and kissed him with even more passion. He responded, and their tongues touched. After several minutes of smooching, Bobby suggested, "Let's move to the bed."

Continuing to embrace, holding the kiss, they stood together and walked the three steps to the bed. Sweetie turned off the room light, but the neon tourist court sign out front provided ample light to see each other. Sweetie's blouse and skirt were easy to remove. He helped her strip down to her bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings. She sat on the side of the bed to remove her stockings. Meanwhile, Bobby took off his shirt and pants, and stood next to her in his boxer shorts.

"Sweetie, I've always remembered how beautiful you were that day in the pasture..."

"Oh, Bobby, thank you for the compliment, but the red neon light shining through the window flatters my features. I have stretch marks on my tummy and breasts, my hips are too big, and my breasts are pendulous from nursing my two babies. When you saw me in the buff then, my breasts were round and firm, my skin smooth, my belly was flat...."

"Sweetie, those are minor blemishes, hardly noticeable. You're every bit as lovely now as that day."

Bobby kissed her again, and then he caressed her breasts and softly kissed her on each nipple. He said, "You're still beautiful, and you should never think otherwise."

They lay side by side in the bed for a moment, and Bobby spoke. "Sweetie, we better not go any farther. I didn't bring any protection."

"And just what kind of protection do you think you need from me? What kind of diseases do you think you might catch from me?"

Bobby stammered, "Well, I-I didn't mean that..."

Sweetie giggled, kissed him on the lips, and said, "I knew what you meant," then reached into the little drawer in the side table and brought out a small glassine packet. "Is this the protection you wanted?"

He laughed and said, "Miss Mildred Stephenson, you were expecting this to happen, weren't you?"

She laughed and answered, "Lieutenant J.G. Robert Howe, I wasn't expecting this to happen; I planned it."

Both laughed, and she helped him put the prophylactic over his erect penis. Lying face to face in the bed, they chuckled about the episode, then turned serious and embraced each other, kissing ardently. Bobby pulled away and kissed her breasts and caressed her pubic area, then gently rubbed her clitoris until she was wet. He eased himself into her; she moaned with delight. This encounter lasted much longer than their first sexual experience in the company pasture years earlier. He brought her along with the patience he learned from the women in Scotland. She climaxed, having never experienced an orgasm before. Not long after she climaxed, Bobby achieved his. They separated, and Bobby took the condom off, flushed it down the toilet, and put on his shorts.

They sat on the edge of the bed, each smoking a cigarette but neither speaking. Eventually, Sweetie snuffed out her smoke, lay back down, and told Bobby, "Come lie down here together while we fall asleep."

They dozed for about an hour, until Bobby awoke, lit a cigarette, and poured a glass of water. Sweetie awakened and said, "Light one for me."

He lit another cigarette, and brought it and the ashtray to the bed. After they finished their smoke, they lay down again. Sweetie pulled down his shorts and asked, "Can I kiss it?" He responded with an avid nod, and in a gentle manner she kissed the head of his penis.

Her kiss caused another erection. They both laughed, and he said, "I shouldn't have flushed the rubber down the toilet!"

She giggled, reached into the drawer, and brought out another glassine packet. "I planned for this, too." They enjoyed coitus a second time. During their first episode, Bobby took the lead; but this second time Sweetie was more animated. She rolled Bobby over and aggressively took the superior position. After a few minutes, they rolled back to their original positions and again Bobby brought her to climax; continuing, he brought her to a second orgasm before he came.

While they were still in a tight embrace, Bobby whispered, "Sweetie, I love you."

Sweetie put her fingers to his mouth and admonished, "Never say that to me again.... But Bobby, I'll also say this once, and never again; I love you. I always have and I always will... but it can never be..."

When they separated, he checked the time. It was four a.m., and Bobby had to answer roll-call at 0500 hours. He lit two cigarettes, handing one to Sweetie. They took a few puffs, but could not relax for long. They shared the bathroom without embarrassment, considering their activities over the past several hours. Sweetie could not resist scrubbing Bobby's back as he bathed. Sweetie dressed in tan trousers, beige blouse, white sandals, and a British navy cap cocked to the side on her head. Morning temperatures in the panhandle of Florida were cool this time of year, so she also donned her navy pea coat. Bobby wore his new khaki uniform. They spent a few seconds admiring each other, embraced, and kissed. Sweetie wiped the lipstick off Bobby's mouth; then they hurried to Mrs. Roberts' cabin to pick up Tommy.

Mrs. Roberts admired the two of them for a moment, assuming they were a young married couple enjoying a brief time together before he shipped out. Sweetie said nothing to disabuse Mrs. Roberts of her belief. She retrieved Tommy from his bed; he was grouchy at being awakened, but as soon as he saw his Uncle Bobby, he perked up. In the car, he sat on Bobby's lap as his mother exceeded the speed limit, assuring Bobby would be on time.

At the gate, they exchanged a brief kiss. Bobby kissed Tommy on the cheek and said, "Little man, I have something for you." He handed Tommy a pair of silver aviator's wings and said, "These are the South African Air Force pilot's wings I wore while flying Hurricanes and Tomahawks in North Africa."

Tommy grasped the gift in a clenched fist and said, "Thank you, Uncle Bobby! I'll keep this forever!"

It was a promise he tried to keep. He carried the wings into combat himself a quarter of a century later, but the wings were confiscated from him during a year-long stay in a North Vietnamese prison compound called the Hanoi Hilton, and were never returned.

Bobby turned and hustled through the gate. Sweetie knew she would not see him again for a long time, and the lyrics to We'll Meet Again raced through her mind as she drove away.

Washington, D.C.

February 14, 1944

Ensign Harry Glass sat at his desk at the Navy Congressional Liaison Office, located in a nondescript office building within walking distance of the White House. His was one desk among twenty in the large room. Originally anticipating his posting would be in the Pentagon; this location suited him much better. His dad owned a walk-up home in Georgetown, which Senator Andrews borrowed for several years to keep his mistress; but recently having made other arrangements to house his lady, the Senator no longer required the walk-up, so Harry moved in upon his assignment to DC.

The job required almost no thought or effort. He vetted documents and debriefing reports, made comments in the margins, and either passed them through the chain of command or, more often, instructed one of the pool secretaries to file the document away. He would often liaise with counterparts on a Congressman's staff, taking long lunches at many of Washington's finer restaurants. What he enjoyed most about this assignment were the women. It looked to Harry like every beauty contest winner in America migrated to Washington seeking work.

He looked over to the next desk at his new friend, Gary Briggs. "Gary, what are we going to do tonight? Back to the Round Robin Bar? That was a great piece of tail I met there last week. We made love... I mean, I fucked her all weekend long."

"Nah, let's check out the Off the Record bar at the Hay-Adams. It's Valentine's Day, and the chicks there will be ready to fuck. We can walk to the hotel from here and take a taxi with the floozies we pick up to your Georgetown walk-up.

"Harry, you better be careful. Most of the chicks here in DC are looking to get married. They'll 'accidentally' get pregnant on you."

"Shit, Gary, I got trapped in marriage when the chick I fucked came up preg. I know now how to avoid that situation."

"Well, you know, in most cases, the chick is preg by someone else. She fucks some poor shmuck she likes, gets knocked up, and decides she doesn't want to spend her life living in an apartment over a butcher shop. She finds a rich guy, fucks him, and tells him the baby is his. Sad story, but it happens all the time."

"I'm not worried about that happening here. Every chick I pick up sees I'm wearing a wedding band, but they're still going to bed with me. Besides, they're not interested in an Ensign like me or even a J.G. like you. They're after much bigger fish. They only fuck us to keep in practice. Drop by my desk at six o'clock, and we can head over to the bar.

"Oh, I've been meaning to ask you. I noticed a battle star on one of your ribbons. How did get such awarded in this job? One of those stars would be helpful for my political career."

"Hell, Harry, you and I will both get elected to Congress as soon as this war is over; me from Iowa and you from Louisiana. We'll swim in a sea of pussy here for the rest of our lives. To answer your question; I was an observer on a destroyer at the Battle of Tarawa last November. The ship fired a few hundred shells onto the island to support the landing, and then patrolled seas off the atoll for Jap subs for a few days before returning to Pearl. It wasn't a bad experience, and I earned the star for service during a battle."

"How did you swing such an assignment?"

"Easy, just tell the skipper you think you need experience on a tin can. You've never even been to sea, have you? Skipper will think highly of you for making the request. You might even get a shiny new silver J.G. bar for your collar after you complete your cruise."

"Okay, I'll talk with the skipper right away. See you at six."

Aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise (CV-6)

in the Philippine Sea

June 18, 1944

The pilots were excited; to the man they were ready for action. Intelligence reported the Japanese were launching their Kantai Kessen, or "decisive battle" against the U.S. Fifth Fleet, of which the Enterprise was one carrier. Although Bobby was impatient to get on with the battle, he took advantage of the lull before the action to write a brief letter to Sweetie. He kept it light-hearted so as not to alarm her. He posted it in the ship's mailroom.

Since he joined the fleet, Bobby scored two kills in minor engagements with the Japanese, and his contact with the enemy demonstrated to him his Hellcat was a far superior plane to anything the Japanese could bring into battle against him. He was concerned about the possibility his commander might assign him to bomb targets on Japanese land bases on nearby Guam, but his concerns were unfounded, as his wing was among those selected to protect the carriers against the Japanese fighters certain to be arriving soon.

Before dawn on the nineteenth, Bobby's squadron took off from the carrier and proceeded to a point 35 miles west of the fleet to fly at an altitude of 24,000 feet in a circular pattern, or orbit, to await the Japanese onslaught. The Hellcats orbited only a short time when the Enterprise radioed advising radar showed 53 Japanese planes heading toward the carrier. To maintain secrecy, the Hellcats did not answer the Enterprise's notification. Bobby led a wing of four fighters flying with a group of more than 75 Hellcats, so the Americans entered the battle with a numerical advance over the Japanese.

Maintaining radio silence, Bobby signaled his three wingmen to follow him on a course to intercept the invaders. In less than fifteen minutes, they made visual contact with the Japanese force several thousand feet below them. The Hellcats, with the sun to their backs, nosed down to dive at the approaching enemy. Continuing radio silence, they caught the lead planes by surprise, and the Americans destroyed several Japanese planes. Bobby scored a kill on the first pass. The Hellcats were now below the Japanese, so Bobby pulled up and gave the 2,000-horsepower Pratt & Whitney radial engine full throttle to get above the Zeros. One of his wingmen radioed to warn, "Chief, a Zero is on your tail; watch out." The other Hellcat pilots called Bobby "Chief" because of his Indian blood.

Bobby took his plane into a vertical climb and the Zero followed. The Zero pilot fired two bursts at Bobby, but neither came near Bobby's Hellcat. He realized this was an experienced pilot on his tail, but he knew several maneuvers he could use against the Zero pilot. He continued his vertical climb; the Zero in pursuit. Bobby thought to himself, "Okay Tojo, you probably used this maneuver successfully against our Wildcats, but it won't work against this Hellcat." They continued their vertical climb past 25,000 feet; past 30,000 feet; past 33,000 feet; and, as he expected, the Zero stalled. The Japanese pilot recovered from the stall, but Bobby took his Hellcat into an inside loop and a roll and came out behind the Zero. Now with both planes in a shallow dive, Bobby was hot on the Zero's tail. The Japanese pilot tried several maneuvers to shake Bobby, who maintained his position behind the Zero. At last Bobby saw the Zero in his sights, put a short burst from his .50-caliber machine guns into the fuselage, and the plane exploded into a fireball. Someone came on the radio and said, "Good shooting, Chief."

The remainder of the Japanese force continued towards the carrier. The Hellcats pursued and caught the Zeros as they were approaching the fleet's first line of defense: seven destroyers. The tin cans opened fire on the approaching Japanese with anti-aircraft weapons. As flak was bursting near him, Bobby opened fire on a Zero, which exploded into flames, but he could not tell whether it was his guns or the anti-aircraft artillery on the ships which brought down the plane. He climbed back to optimum altitude, looking for other Zeros when a voice came over the radio: "Bongo One, this is Bongo Four; Chief, Bongo Three took a hit and is spiraling out of control."

"Bongo Four, stay in sight of him; see if he bails out."

"Negative, his plane hit the water and has gone under. He never bailed out."

"Roger, Bongo Four. Reform with me and Bongo Two. We need to see if we can kill a few more Japs."

The dogfights raged for another hour. The Japanese losses were heavy, compared to only a few American casualties. Bobby scored two more kills, giving him four confirmed for the day. The Japanese broke off the fight, inflicting no serious damage to ships of the Fifth Fleet. Bobby and the other Hellcats returned to their carriers as the sun was setting. Bobby debriefed the wingman who saw Clifford Canton go down. Bobby gave a report on the incident to the Executive Officer.

"Lieutenant, did you see what brought down Lieutenant J.G. Canton?"

"No sir, I was engaged when he crashed into the ocean; but another wingman, Bongo Four, saw Lieutenant Canton receive fire from a Zero and then spiral out of control. Bongo Four followed Lieutenant Canton's Hellcat until it hit the water. Canton did not bail out, and there was no chance for him to exit the plane after splash-down."

"We called for a destroyer to sweep the area where his plane went down, and if he survived, he will be located. In the meantime, I'm assigning Ensign William Olaf to your wing."

"Sir, with all due respect, Ensign Olaf hasn't flown in combat yet. He's a good flyer; he's flown with me on routine patrols, but..."

"Your objection is noted, Lieutenant, but every one of you flew combat for the first time once. We need every plane in the air tomorrow; we expect the Japs to come with even more strength. Tuck him under your wing and he'll be okay. That is all, Lieutenant; dismissed."

Day Two of the Battle of the Philippine Sea, in what was to become known as The Great Marianas Turkey Shoot, was a replay of the first. The Japanese committed more planes into the battle, but so did the U.S., which had superior numbers, more advanced aircraft, and better-trained and more experienced pilots.

Bobby's concerns about Ensign Olaf were unfounded; the Ensign acquitted himself well, scoring two kills. Bobby achieved five kills the second day, bringing his total for the two days to nine. Bobby's record since his transfer to the U.S. Navy stood now at eleven confirmed kills.

After the battle, Bobby undertook the unpleasant task of writing a letter to the widow and four children of Lieutenant J.G. Canton. He performed that task twice before during this war; once to Roddy Hewitt's mother and sister, and to the family of a young pilot killed in a training accident in Scotland.

Bobby managed only two more kills the rest of the war, bringing down two kamikaze planes off Okinawa. At one point, the Enterprise suffered major damage from friendly fire and shortly thereafter from a hit by a kamikaze and sailed from the war zone for repairs. Because she sustained damage to her flight deck while Bobby was in the air, he landed his Hellcat on the U.S.S. Yorktown. He remained assigned to the Yorktown for the rest of the war, flying ground support missions on Okinawa and air support and recon missions over the Japanese homeland.

Aboard Destroyer U.S.S. Johnston (DD-557)

Off Coast of Samar, Philippines

October 25, 1944

In the predawn darkness, Harry poured a cup of coffee in the galley and carried it up the narrow staircase to the bridge, as he did every morning for the past three weeks. He came onto the bridge and saw the skipper was already at his station. "Good morning, Captain Evans."

"Good morning, Ensign Glass. It looks like your tour on this vessel will end in a few days. It's been a rather uneventful cruise. I hope you will write a glowing report about our readiness and the overall seamanship of the crew."

"Yes, Captain, I plan to file a report so stating. It has been a valuable lesson serving aboard this vessel."

Harry intended to write such a report, but his experience aboard the tin can was a disappointment, and would not earn him the battle star he coveted. The landing at Leyte was in progress less than fifty miles away, but the Johnston was part of an Escort Carrier Task Unit, called Taffy 3, patrolling an area of the Philippine Sea near the Straits of San Bernardino.

The captains of the vessels comprising Taffy 3 were confident Admiral Halsey's Third Fleet would prevent any Japanese incursion through this route, but unknown to Captain Evans and the other ships' captains of Taffy 3, Admiral Halsey fell for a decoy move by the Japanese and was pursuing what he thought was the main Japanese fleet to the north. Halsey's armada was now too far away to cover a Japanese penetration through the Straits of San Bernardino.

A little before sunrise, the XO handed Captain Evans a communique from CINCPAC received by the Johnston's Communication Room in plain language only seconds earlier. It was so urgent CINCPAC did take the time to code the message or make the Johnston's Communication Room take the time to decode it. The XO inquired, "Should we sound General Quarters?"

"Yes... order Battle Stations. The Japs will be on us right away."

The horns throughout the ship blasted the Battle Stations sequence, and the XO issued the order through the ship's intercom. The ship conducted the battle station drills the day after Harry and several new sailors came aboard at Seeadler Harbor in the Admiralty Islands, so he knew how to react. He donned a life vest and a hard helmet. His assigned station was on the bridge, but away from the action. He caught the conversation between the skipper and the XO; "... damn, aerial recon reports five battleships, twelve heavy cruisers, and fifteen destroyers twenty miles away and closing fast."

The skipper replied rhetorically, "Where the hell is Halsey?"

A loud explosion reverberated the ship and Harry observed a huge geyser of water thrown up several hundred yards off the port side of vessel. The Johnston zigged in and out among the escort aircraft carriers of the Taffy 3 group, laying a smoke screen as the small carriers designated CVEs launched their planes.

The Japanese fleet was out of range of the Johnston's five-inch guns, and the Japanese continued to throw shells at the Taffy 3 group. Captain Evans brought the ship around and proceeded full speed towards the Japanese fleet, all the while encountering continued heavy shelling; many of the rounds were finding their targets and hitting the Johnston. The Japanese were firing armor-piercing shells at the thinly-armored ship. These shells would go right through the ship without exploding; in fact, one such shell passed through the bridge without causing major damage.

Eventually, the Johnston got within range for its five-inch guns to reach the Japanese ships. The Johnston's ordinance could not penetrate the thick hulls of the Japanese battleships and cruisers, so the ship's gunners aimed for the bridge and other above-deck structures, with some success. Captain Evans continued steaming the vessel towards the Japanese fleet, and when the ship was within torpedo range, he ordered a spread of ten torpedoes fired. He immediately turned the ship about to escape into the smoke screen. Lookouts on the Johnston reported three of the torpedoes exploded on their targets.

The Japanese gunners were finding the Johnston again, and switched from the ineffective armor-piercing projectiles to ordinance which would explode on contact. The Johnston took three hits from the fourteen-inch guns of one cruiser, and several hits from a cruisers' six-inch guns–one of which hit the Johnston's bridge, wounding Captain Evans and killing three seamen. Harry sustained several superficial cuts from that shell.

Harry was gut-wrenching scared. He wished for something to do; his orders during battle were to remain on the bridge, but to stay out of everyone's way. He became nauseous and was sure he would throw up his breakfast, but he held it back. He felt he would blow his bowels all over the place, but it was only gas. As he passed the gas, he urinated in his pants, but nobody noticed. He stayed pressed against the bulkhead; he saw nowhere to hide, and nowhere to run. Although not attending church in years, he prayed, reciting the Lord's Prayer several times.

A direct hit to the engine room by a fourteen-inch projectile from one of the Japanese cruisers knocked power off the ship, forcing Captain Evans to order "Abandon ship!" The Abandon Ship procedure had not been demonstrated to Harry, so he remained beside two of the officers from the bridge as they jumped into the water from the crippled vessel. The three of them swam clear of the wounded vessel, and watched from a safe distance as the Japanese continued to shell the Johnston, now dead in the water. She sank beneath the waves a few minutes before 1000 hours. Survivors reported the Japanese captain of one of the destroyers stood on the deck of his ship and saluted the Johnston as she sank beneath the sea.

Harry and the two officers with whom he abandoned ship found a life raft and paddled around rendering aid to those who needed it. Harry and the two others gave up the life raft to more seriously wounded sailors. Because of faulty communication and inaccurate positioning of the ship when she sank, the survivors were in the water for forty-eight hours before rescue. Many of the crew who survived the Japanese onslaught perished from exposure and shark attacks. Of the 327 officers and men aboard the Johnston, only 141 survived.

Captain Evans was among the casualties. He was posthumously awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. President Roosevelt also authorized a Presidential Unit Citation for the crew of the U.S.S. Johnston. Harry received a Purple Heart because of the wounds he sustained aboard the Johnston during the battle, and was awarded a battle star for participation in the Battle off Samar, as the engagement became known.

Due to the audacious actions of the U.S.S. Johnston and her sister ships in the Taffy 3 force, the Imperial Japanese Navy Central Fleet turned about 180 degrees and retreated to their home islands, posing no further threat to the precarious American beachhead at Leyte.

Harry remained hospitalized for a week in Hawaii, and after discharge from the hospital received thirty days convalescence leave before returning to his duties in Washington. The Navy promoted him to Lieutenant J.G.; awarded him a battle star, a Purple Heart, and he was considered a member of the crew bestowed the Presidential Unit Citation. The first night back in Washington, he and Gary Briggs toasted each other's inevitable success in Congress at the Round Robin Bar in the Willard Hotel as they eyed the available women sitting at the bar, waiting for someone to buy them drinks.

Cabanatuan POW Camp

Philippines

January 30, 1945

Six months previously, the Japanese withdrew the able-bodied prisoners, including Captain Rodgers, and transported them to the Japanese home islands and China to work in slave labor camps. After these men were removed, there were only about 500 POWs remaining in the camp. With Captain Rodgers gone, Paul assumed the role of OIC, or Officer in Charge, of Hut 19C.

The prisoners experienced a number of unusual events over the preceding three weeks. On the morning of January 6, 1945, without notice, the Japanese abandoned the camp, warning the prisoners they would be shot if they attempted escape. The prisoners promptly raided the Japanese section of the camp taking food, blankets, medicines, and anything else useful they could find. They discovered a room full of Red Cross packages the Japanese never distributed. The POWs secured enough food from the Japanese side that for the next couple of weeks, they feasted, and many of the prisoners regained some of their lost weight.

The Japanese recently returned to camp, and uncharacteristically failed to take reprisals against the prisoners for raiding their area. Rumors abounded that the Japanese returned to execute the prisoners before the U.S. and Filipino forces could liberate the camp.

At 1800 hours, an unusual airplane with U.S. markings buzzed the prison compound several times at low level. None of the prisoners recognized the plane; it was twin-engine and twin-boomed, solid black with white markings. The pilot backfired the engine loudly several times, leading the ground observers to think the plane was experiencing engine trouble. Just when the observers in the prison compound thought the plane would crash, the pilot would rev the engines and gain altitude. This flyover continued for over twenty minutes; the aerial performance mesmerized both the prisoners and their guards. A few of the POWs suggested this was a photo-recon plane, but that did not explain the unusual maneuvers by the pilot. The plane made one last circle of the compound, wiggled its wings, and flew south, not to be seen again.

At 1940 hours, gunfire erupted throughout the compound, and loud explosions could be heard. Some of the POWs believed the Japanese were beginning the threatened executions. Paul ordered the men in his hut to hit the deck. A moment later, a loud voice from outside called out in English, "Prisoners, we are U.S. Army Rangers. Come outside–we are here to take you to safety."

Paul threw open the door and saw someone in a strange uniform, nothing like what they wore when captured, and shouted, "I'm Captain Browning, OIC of this hut. We need help with a few of the prisoners. They're unable to walk very far."

"Yes, Captain, we anticipated that, and have several burly men to carry the non-ambulatory prisoners. Please get your men outside at once. We have very little time to slip away before the Nips regroup."

The Army Rangers executed the plan with admirable skill; they rescued all the prisoners. Filipino guerrillas bottled up the main Japanese force attempting to reach the camp from the north while the Rangers and the prisoners made their way to friendly territory to the south. During the trek to the U.S. base, Lieutenant Colonel Mucci, who commanded the raiders, communicated the planning and implementation of the rescue, explained how the Air Force sent a new P-61 Black Widow night fighter to divert the Japanese guards' attention to the sky while the Rangers crawled over two hundred yards of open ground to reach the compound's perimeter.

The prisoners and their rescuers made the two-day hike to the American base without major incident. Army doctors examined the freed prisoners, and a diet specialist planned the next several meals for the rescued men. The doctors found Paul to be in relatively good health, although severely underweight. The base commander assured each of the former POWs that telegrams were being sent at once to their next of kin, advising they had been rescued.

"Sweetie... Sweetie! Come quick."

"What's the matter, Ciel?"

"I got a telegram from the Army Department. The Army rescued Paul from the POW camp!"

"That's great news, Ciel! How is he? Is he okay?"

"It doesn't say; all the message says is the Army rescued him and others from a Japanese prison camp, and he's at an American Army base in the Philippines. The telegram said the Army will furnish more information later."

Sweetie dashed over to Vonciel and embraced her friend.
Chapter 6

San Francisco, California

March 8, 1945

Vonciel stood for over two hours in the cold at the Embarcadero wharf with hundreds of wives and mothers awaiting to see their loved ones. She was wearing a navy pea coat and a knitted wool hat, but the cold penetrated all she was wearing. She moved around, trying to keep warm. She glanced again at her watch noting it was now past ten a.m. She lit another cigarette. She remembered she was in almost the same spot where she watched Paul embark to the Philippines over three years ago. Her pulse quickened as she saw large ship emerge from the fog, but it passed the wharf to dock elsewhere. After an hour and a half, another large vessel emerged from the fog. Fireboats approached it spraying water in celebration of its arrival. Several tugboats guided it to this berth. A band on the dock was playing military marches. This vessel was the U.S.S. General A.E. Anderson bringing Paul and the other prisoners home.

Things went agonizingly slow as the shore detail secured the mooring ropes onto the cleats and other personnel put the gangplank into place. At last the men disembarked the ship. She pushed to the barricade, ignoring the inclement weather. Her heart raced – what if I don't recognize him when he comes off the vessel? she thought out loud.

There were hundreds of women waiting for their men that morning. As the soldiers and Marines filed off, women in the crowd would scream their loved one's name when they saw him, and duck under the barricade to run to him. Having not yet spotted Paul, she worried whether he passed by without her recognizing him. Then she saw him stepping off the walkway onto the dock; her fears were unfounded, as she recognized him immediately. He was thinner now, but it was him all right! She screamed his name several times to no avail; he continued walking towards the building. So, she ducked under the barricade and ran past the Shore Patrol sailors on the dock, continuing to shout Paul's name.

Paul heard his name at last and looked around to see Vonciel running towards him. He stepped out of the queue heading into the processing center and met her. She grabbed him tightly, and just repeated his name over and over. She kissed him all over the face: above the eyes, his nose and his cheek, and, at last, the lips. They held their embrace without saying a word. Vonciel broke the silence, "Paul, honey, you're back. I can't believe it. I am so happy!"

"Yes love, I'm back for good..."

They continued their embrace without speaking for several minutes before Paul slowly said, "I better get into the processing center..."

"Why? The Army has already honorably discharged you. Let's go right now. I have us a room for the next two nights at the Mark Hopkins..."

"... I must pick up a voucher for the train ride back home..."

"There's no need. Mr. Glass arranged for us to fly commercial to New Orleans. He didn't even have to bother Senator Andrews. He called the airline and told them about our situation, and they gave us priority to fly. Sweetie will bring Paula and pick us up at the New Orleans airport. Let's go check into our room and let you rest. Our flight doesn't leave for two more days."

Vonceil undertook the unpleasant task of telling Paul of his mother's death almost two years before. He took the news very hard and cried softly in his wife's arms.

Later, in the hotel, she said, as they lay side-by-side, Vonceil said, "Paul honey, don't worry about it. If you're not ready physically or mentally, we don't have to be intimate right away. We'll be patient and wait until the time is right for us both. We'll know when we're ready. We have the rest of our lives."

"I love you, Ciel baby... just thinking about you sustained me in the POW camp... thank you for being so understanding. I don't know what my problem is - I thought about you constantly in the prison camp. I relived every moments of our nights in San Francisco, but now... I just... Ciel, I'm sorry."

"Hold me, tight honey, you don't have to apologize. Just kiss me and hold me close. I've missed you so much."

Paul rolled over onto his side and moved his head towards her and kissed her with the tenderness he felt for her. Paul fell asleep in her embrace. She lay quietly studying her husband' face and listening to him breath. She kissed on the lips – he responded and gently returned her kiss. She caressed his hair and kissed him with some passion. They held the kiss a long time. Paul slipped the straps of her negligee off her shoulder and caressed one of her breasts.

They decided they had been patient long enough.

Washington, D.C.

September 19, 1945

"Well, Gary, it was good times for a while," Harry sighed. "All things considered, the war wasn't too bad for you and me. You won't get as much pussy in Red Oak, Iowa, and I definitely won't get laid as often in Bogalusa."

"Hell, Harry, we're just taking a little time out to catch our breath. We'll both be in Congress in a few years, and there will be more of the same, only better... so, you've decided to run for your state senate right away?"

"Yeah, Rand Albright advised me to get into a race as soon as possible. He says the euphoria from winning the war will wane, and if I wait too long, my military record may not help as much. Qualifying opened last week, so I need to get there right away."

"I hear you, man; it'll be several months before the job of District Attorney opens up in Montgomery County. I should be able to take on all challengers; I always knew my law degree might come in handy someday."

"Gary, I think my ride is outside by now, and I don't want to miss this train. We have each other's addresses and telephone numbers, so we'll keep in touch. See you in Congress!"

"Say Harry, before you go – are you going to keep the place in Georgetown?"

"Oh, hell yeah; we'll put it to good use again."

Aboard the U.S.S. Yorktown (CV-10)

in San Francisco Bay, California

October 20, 1945

"This must be an awesome sight to the people watching the ship make its way to the dock," Bobby remarked to the sailor standing next to him.

"Yes sir; it must be impressive."

Bobby and the sailor, along with a few thousand others, were "manning the rails" as the ship came to dock at Alameda Naval Air Station. They were in their "whites," standing at parade rest shoulder-to-shoulder around the perimeter of the ship's flight deck. The Navy did not mandate officers, such as Bobby, participate in this tradition, but it was an honor in which he and many other officers of the Yorktown were proud to take part. As the tugboats were moving the ship into her berth, Bobby observed at least two thousand people behind barricades, being held back by a few dozen Shore Patrol personnel. There was no way he was going to pick out Sweetie in that crowd.

The Navy band on the dock played Anchors Aweigh and then The Marine Hymn. There were over twenty-five hundred marines aboard the Yorktown, most of whom had seen action on Iwo Jima and Okinawa, and who were now being transported home. Bobby thought it was only right they would disembark the vessel first. After the Marines, the enlisted sailors and NCOs would go ashore. Only after all those personnel left the ship would the officers go ashore. Bobby figured it would be at least two hours before he would leave the vessel.

It was after 1700 hours before Bobby strolled down the walkway onto the dock. The crowd behind the barricade had thinned, so he spotted Sweetie waving frantically to him. As usual, she was dressed in the most current style, with a sailor cap cocked off to the side of her head. Her hair, formerly blonde, was now light brunette in color. He rushed over and gave her a kiss. The Shore Patrol said nothing as he slipped under the barricade to be with her.

"Don't you have to go sign out or something?"

"Nope, as soon as I stepped off that walkway onto the dock, me and the U.S. Navy officially parted company. I'm now just plain old Bobby Howe."

"Well, plain old Bobby Howe, let's find the chartered bus to San Francisco. I have us a room for two nights at the Sir Francis Drake."

"You have us a room?"

"Yes, a room, and I brought enough protection to last us both nights."

"Wow; this is the largest hotel room I've ever seen," he said after they checked in two hours later. "Look how big the bed is; and there's a couch and a desk in the room!"

"This is one of the hotel's Deluxe Suites."

" How can you afford this?"

"Harry is generous with his money. He will do anything to keep me happy and appear as the quintessential candidate's wife."

"Has the Navy discharged Harry yet? Is he at home?"

"His discharge came through several weeks ago. He's almost never at home. He and his sleazy campaign manager are developing a strategy for his state senate run. He already qualified, and the election is next January." She looked at him, her eyes smoldering. "Enough talk; help me out of these clothes."

They took up where they left off in Pensacola. Both naked between the sheets, they hugged, kissed, and reacquainted themselves with each other's bodies. It didn't take Sweetie long to be ready. They put the condom on Bobby's rigid penis and he eased it into her as she moaned with delight. He took it slow, and she climaxed within a few seconds. Bobby continued and brought her to a second orgasm in a short time, and just after hers, he reached his. They stayed together for a long time before Bobby rolled away, lit two cigarettes, and handed one to Sweetie. He took two deep puffs, looked at Sweetie, and said, "Sweetie, there is something I must tell you..."

She put her hand to his mouth and said sternly, "I told you in Pensacola never to say those words to me again."

"You don't want me to tell you I'm hungry?" Bobby's comeback gave both a nice laugh.

She told Bobby to get the two bathrobes hanging behind the bathroom door and to order room service. They shared a scrumptious room service meal half an hour later; and afterward, each lit a cigarette and sat down to talk. She brought him up-to-date on Paul and Vonciel. "Paul seems to have made an amazing recovery. He appears fine physically, but Ciel says he won't talk about his experiences in the camp."

"I can't say I blame him; let him put the unpleasant past behind him, and move forward with his life."

"And get this: Paul returned home in March, and Ciel is already pregnant."

"Good for Paul... and Ciel too!"

"Bobby, Tommy and I have a surprise for you when you get home. I can't wait; I have to tell you about it now, but please act surprised when you see it."

"What?"

"Tommy and I repainted the walls and refinished the floors in the old apartment over the Glass's detached garage. Pops installed a shower, a new basin and commode, and purchased a new range, refrigerator and furniture. That old place is all fixed up for you to live in."

"You and Tommy did it all?" he inquired, amazed.

"Yes, we did, with a little help from some professional painters and from the local flooring company – and otherwise we did everything ourselves. Please act surprised when we show it to you; I told Tommy we would surprise you with the apartment. Oh, and you may not believe this, but your old motorcycle is still in storage at Burdette's, and he said you can use what's left of his tools to get it in running condition. Nothing is too good for our returning servicemen!"

"Sweetie, I'm at a loss for what to say. I'll pay Mr. Glass rent..."

"No, he was emphatic; you can stay there rent free as long as you need to get readjusted to civilian life. He appreciated the letters you sent him from the Enterprise and Yorktown. He told me he feels a special bond with you; one old salt to another. You remember, he served in the Navy in World War I."

"Who's keeping Tommy and Lucille while you're here?"

"They're staying with Paul and Ciel, and Melba helps some."

He smiled. "And how did you explain your coming to San Francisco?"

"Harry doesn't care. He may not even realize I've left since we so rarely see each other. Pops and Mama Ola encouraged me to meet your ship. Pops said it would be unpatriotic for us to let you disembark in a strange city and there be no one to welcome you home. He said he cannot describe the joy he felt when Ola met his ship in New York after the First World War."

"Hah! And what will Pops think if he finds out I've been diddling his daughter-in-law?"

"We'll just have to make sure he doesn't."

After an awkward period of silence, Bobby stepped over to Sweetie, kissed her, and slipped her robe off dropping it to the floor. He removed his, and they lay down together for a second session.

Washington, D.C.

November 8, 1945

"Why did you drag me and the kids here? This has nothing to do with us."

"Shut up and smile. I was part of the crew of the U.S.S. Johnston, and we're here to receive the Presidential Unit Citation for our actions."

"You were not really part of the crew. You were aboard ship only as an observer... for three weeks!"

"I served on that ship during the Battle off Samar, and I received a battle star to prove it. I expect I'll get my picture taken with President Truman, and which will be an asset to my campaign. Look, there's my friend, Gary Briggs. He said he would be here to give me support."

"I bet he wants to get his picture taken with the president, too."

Dressed in Navy whites the same as Harry, Gary walked over. The two men shook hands and grasped each other by the upper arm. "Harry, you look great in uniform. You must be Sweetie, and this is Tommy and Lucille." He shook hands with Sweetie and Tommy, and patted Lucille on the head.

They chatted for a few minutes awaiting commencement of the award ceremony. The Secretary of the Navy made a short address, and then President Truman arrived to strains of Hail to the Chief. He gave a brief speech, after which he allowed the crewmen of the Johnson to file by him one at a time allowing the White House photographer to take their pictures together. Harry treasures the photograph of him shaking the president's hand.

Gary did not get a picture with the president, but after Truman departed, the White House photographer snapped a photograph of Gary and Harry shaking hands. A commercial photographer also made a few pictures of Harry with Sweetie and the kids. After posing for pictures with his family, Harry walked to the bar to share a drink with Gary. Meanwhile, Sweetie sat with the children and ordered them soft drinks and herself a cup of coffee.

"Man, Harry, you have a beautiful wife," Gary said thoughtfully. "You never mentioned how gorgeous she was; she has the beauty of a movie star. I bet she's a hell of a good fuck."

"Nope; she's nothing but a cold fish in bed. She's frigid. We haven't had sex in... I mean, I haven't fucked her in several years."

"Harry, old boy, let your Uncle Gary give you some advice. The woman I'm looking at isn't frigid. I can recognize a frigid woman when I see one; I've thawed a few of them, but while they're frigid, they have a certain look about them. Your wife doesn't have such look. If you're not giving her what she wants, then someone else is slipping the meat to her. She is a well-satisfied woman."

Bogalusa, Louisiana

November 27, 1945

Sweetie said nothing on the drive home, while the two children sat quietly in the back seat of Harry's new Lincoln. Upon reaching home, Sweetie escorted the children upstairs, put them to bed then came downstairs to confront Harry, who was sitting by the fireplace smoking a large Cuban cigar and drinking a martini.

She stood a few feet away and looked him in the eye. "That was embarrassing, what you did - no, worse than embarrassing, it was humiliating. How dare you say those things to that crowd with me and your children sitting on the platform with you? Did you not learn any lessons from the war we fought?"

"Calm down, Sweetie, it's only politics."

"No, what you said is not politics; it is just crudeness. I'm sure Donald and Ola did not raise their child that way, and what must Melba think?"

"Melba understands."

"I doubt it; Melba birthed you, and her sister was your wet nurse when Ola couldn't lactate. She raised you all your life. She birthed both of our children and is the nanny for them. You called Mr. Sims, who is a fine gentleman, a Negro lover; only you used a crude term for Negro, a word which we would never let our children utter. You also said Sims would stand by and allow those 'big black bucks' to go to school with our innocent young daughters..."

"Sweetie, it is just politics. Rand Albright says most candidates in the Deep South will run similar campaigns over the next decade or more, and I'm one of the first office seekers to exploit this issue. You heard how the crowd reacted when I said those things."

"Well, if you intend to use such language at your future rallies, you can just get Rand Albright to sit up on the platform with you and smile to the crowd with his hands in his lap. I won't put up with it, and I will not allow you to subject our children to such crudeness."

Harry placed his drink on the coffee table, stood up, and grabbed Sweetie by the wrists and said in a low voice, "You will sit on the platform with me at every rally... you can make your peaches-and-cream speeches at flower club meetings and book circles, but you will be with me at the large rallies. You will smile. When I introduce you to the crowd, you will walk to me, kiss me on the cheek, and wave to the crowd. Then you will sit back down with your hands in your lap and smile throughout my speech. Is that understood?"

"Harry, you're hurting me; let go of my wrists." Harry released her wrists, but stood inches away, staring her in the eyes.

"You will attend these rallies, but we can leave the children at home if you insist." He continued in a threatening manner "If your absence were to cost me this election, I will kick your ass out of here, divorce you, and obtain custody of the children. You like the life you're living here too much to give it up just because I say a few words of which you disapprove. You better think long and hard before you throw this easy life away... What would you do? Go back to your old job at the bank? I don't think so.

"And while we're having our little heart-to-heart talk, there's something else I demand you tell me tonight... Have you been unfaithful to me?"

Sweetie replied with a sense of outrage, "You're asking ME if I've been unfaithful to YOU? ... What a laugh! It's common knowledge in this household about Gertie and the bungalow you set her up in while you were working at the shipyard. And what about you and your friend Gary running whores in and out of the Georgetown walk-up? I never want to set foot in that place again; it's probably contaminated."

Harry mumbled "those women were not whores".

Sweetie laughed. Until then she possessed no actual knowledge of Harry and Gary taking women into the Georgetown place; it was a wild guess, but as it turned out, her guess was correct.

Harry paused for a while. He picked up his drink and sat back down. Sweetie continued standing. At last he spoke. "Let's calm down. No sense in having a big argument over this, but I'm serious about you being at my rallies with me regardless of any offensive language I use. Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

She nodded her head in the affirmative. Harry took more time than necessary to relight his cigar, all the while staring at Sweetie. She needed a cigarette, but would wait until this confrontation was over. She sensed there was more.

Harry finished lighting the cigar and spoke, "One more thing, Sweetie. I asked you two weeks ago to tell Bobby I wanted him to pose with me in our uniforms. It will make a great picture for the campaign. A professional photographer will take the picture at the riverfront in New Orleans of the two of us standing side by side. I'll have one foot on a cleat, and one hand on Bobby's shoulder. I'll point something out, and Bobby will look at where I'm pointing. Did you tell him? What did he say?"

"I told him. He said he stuffed all his uniforms in his footlocker, so they're unfit to wear. He also said he doesn't take a good picture."

"Well, you talk again with our friend Bobby, and put some authority into my request. Remind him how I, as his best friend, need this as a personal favor. You get his uniform to the laundry, and if he needs more convincing, remind him he lives rent free in the apartment we are so graciously providing him."

"Harry, let's leave Bobby out of this. He seems despondent; he hasn't adjusted to life since he returned from the war..."

"That's bullshit; he didn't have it as tough as I did when Jap shells were sinking my boat and I rescued some of my crew from shark-infested waters at risk of my own life. Those flyboys lived in luxury during the war and, in particular, those like Bobby who served on a carrier. Look at me; you don't see me moping over the situations I encountered during my service in the Navy. I did my duty and now I put all that behind me, and am getting on with the business of life. And look at Paul; he endured hardships almost as tough as I faced, and he's adjusting without problems. You tell Bobby I want to have a picture done next week. You see this gets accomplished."

Baton Rouge, Louisiana

January 23, 1946

News bulletin sent by United Press to all subscribing Louisiana news outlets:

BATON ROUGE LOUISIANA JANUARY 23 1946 COMPLETE BUT UNOFFICIAL ELECTION RESULTS FROM DEMOCRATIC PARTY PRIMARY ON JANUARY 22 1946 SHOW POLITICAL NEWCOMER AND DECORATED WAR HERO HAROLD (HARRY) GLASS HAS UPSET LONG TIME INCUMBENT ALBERT SIMS FOR THE 36TH DISTRICT SENATE SEAT OF THE LOUISIANA LEGISLATURE. WINNING THE DEMOCRATIC PRIMARY IS TANTAMOUNT TO ELECTION SINCE POLITICAL EXPERTS SAY THE REPUBLICAN PARTY WILL NOT LIKELY FIELD A CANDIDATE FOR THIS SEAT GLASS POLLED OVER 60 PERCENT OF THE VOTES TABULATED IN THESE UNOFFICIAL RESULTS GLASS QUALIFIED FOR THIS RACE ONLY DAYS AFTER RECEIVING AN HONORABLE DISCHARGE FROM THE NAVY THE 36TH DISTRICT INCLUDES THE ENTIRETY OF WASHINGTON PARISH, AND PORTIONS OF ST. TAMMANY AND TANGIPAHOA PARISHES.

Bogalusa, Louisiana

April 10, 1946

Sweetie was on the sofa next to the light, reading the current issue of Movie Star magazine. Tommy lay on his stomach on the floor under the other light, reading a comic book, while Lucille played in a corner with her dolls. Although past sunset, two lamps in the den provided adequate light for their activities. Harry was away all day with Rand Albright, entertaining potential donors for his upcoming bid for the Sixth Congressional District seat in Louisiana. Not yet sworn in as state senator, he was already plotting the upcoming campaign for the U.S. House of Representatives.

Tommy finished his comic book, put it away, and sat down next to his mother. "Mom, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Beau," she replied, using the nickname only she used for her son. "You can ask me anything you want."

"Is Uncle Bobby going to be all right? He seems so sad all the time."

"Oh yes, Beau; he is going to be just fine. He is adjusting to life outside of the Navy, and as soon as he finds a job which suits his skills, you'll see a big change."

Sweetie worried about Bobby. He stayed in his apartment most of time, and it seemed like he slept twelve or more hours a day. He drank every night; never to the point of "falling down drunk," but enough to trouble Sweetie. The only thing which would draw him out of his apartment was when Tommy would drop by with two gloves, a bat, and a baseball, and get his Uncle Bobby to play ball in the nearby schoolyard. Sweetie watched them play sometimes; she even shagged balls for them when Bobby was pitching to Tommy. Bobby almost seemed like his old self when playing baseball with Tommy. She encouraged him to try out for the local semi-pro baseball team in a few weeks; the team would need a hard-throwing lefty, but he showed no interest in participating with the team.

He sometimes talked about getting his motorcycle in shape and riding it out to California to visit some Navy buddies, but never undertook the necessary overhaul of the bike to make this happen.

He made a few half-hearted attempts to find a job. Doyle Burdette no longer maintained a repair service, but offered Bobby a job pumping gas at his service station. Bobby was not interested. He checked with the airport, but to work as an aircraft mechanic, he must be certified by the Federal Civil Aeronautics Board. Bobby could easily qualify for such certification, but did not pursue that possibility. Mr. Glass offered him a position selling cars at his Ford dealership, but Bobby, still being somewhat shy, did not think meeting and selling cars to strangers was something he could handle.

Bobby inquired of Pops if there was an opening in the maintenance department of the dealership for a good mechanic. Mr. Glass said it might be possible to hire Bobby in such a position, but he could not give him an answer until the following week. Sweetie being with Bobby when he spoke with Mr. Glass about the job, sensed hesitancy by Mr. Glass. She asked, "Pops, is there a problem?"

Mr. Glass replied, "No real problem. I'll have to fire Nan Lambert to open up a slot for Bobby. That may seem unfair, but sometimes employers have to make tough decisions in order to provide jobs for our returning veterans. The paper mill fired all its women employees to hire the vets. It looks like I'll need to do the same."

Customers whose cars she repaired thought of Nancy Lambert as a good mechanic.

Bobby and Nan's husband, Joe Lambert, were friends in high school; they shared an interest in motorcycles. Nan and Joe became sweethearts their first year of high school, and graduated in the same class as Bobby and Sweetie. Nan and Joe were married less than a month after graduation. Bobby and Sweetie attended their wedding.

Joe was killed at Omaha Beach on D-Day. Their twin girls were now in the second grade. Without delay, Bobby spoke up: "No! Don't fire Nan. She needs the job much more than I do. I'll find something else."

Bobby and Sweetie had not been intimate since San Francisco. Sweetie proposed they go somewhere out of town like New Orleans for a few days together with no possibility of discovery. Bobby never responded to Sweetie's invitation.

She suggested he make an appointment with the VA hospital to have the doctors check him over. He said "no", explaining he worried the VA doctors would refer him to a psychiatrist. He did not want his medical records reflecting any type of mental illness.

Sweetie did not notice Harry standing in the doorway while she and Tommy were discussing Bobby. He was home from his "meetings." His face was red, he was unsteady on his feet, and when he spoke, he slurred his words. Sweetie said, "Harry, go upstairs and go to bed. You're drunk."

"I heard what you told these kids about their so-called Uncle Bobby.... Well, let me tell them the real story about him."

"Harry, shut up and go to bed."

Ignoring her, he continued, "You kids think he's some kind of hero..."

Sweetie stood up and said, "Harry, I said shut up, and I mean it."

Even in his inebriated state, Harry realized Sweetie was furious; her face was crimson and she was clenching her fists. He dropped the subject. He plopped down in his favorite easy chair, and with some effort lit a cigar. He picked up the local newspaper and tried to reread the front-page story about the newly-elected state senator. He read it twice already, but he never tired of reading about himself. He was having difficulty focusing on the words.

Sweetie calmed herself, put on a smile, and in a cheerful voice said to the children, "You two go on upstairs, brush your teeth, put on your jammies, get in bed. I'll come up in a few minutes and tuck you both in."

She did not have to tell them a second time. They were ready to get out of that tension-filled room.

Harry put down the newspaper and said, "Okay, I won't say anything about their precious uncle in front of them, but I dislike the way he acts like he's a parent to them..."

"Bobby does things with them; talks to them; listens to what they have to say; he laughs with them. You make no time for them."

"You treat him like a hero. He's a coward. He flew away to save himself and left a poor British pilot to die in the Atlantic Ocean. If I were there, I would have saved my comrade as I did many sailors from my ship."

"Harry, you don't have a clue about what happened there. Drop the subject right now." Sweetie turned and walked out of the room to tuck her children in their beds.

Sweetie had no idea what it would take to snap Bobby out of his despondency. She read enough to conclude he was suffering from a condition known as "battle fatigue" or "combat exhaustion." A few wars later, this condition would become known as PTSD.

It may take a miracle to get the old Bobby back, she thought.

Bogalusa, Louisiana

May 11, 1946

Sweetie was holding the miracle she needed in her hands, but did not know it at the time. The postman delivered the Saturday mail before ten a.m., which was earlier than usual. She was sorting through the mail when the telephone rang. Melba answered it. She looked again at the mail. There were thank you notes for graduation gifts Donald and Ola sent to two of their nieces; two utility bills; a postcard from the local Sears catalog store, saying the throw rug she ordered arrived; and a strange-looking envelope. Before she had an opportunity to examine the envelope, Melba called out, "Miss Sweetie, Miss Vonciel is on the phone for you."

"Thanks, Melba, I'll get it in the hall." She stepped into the hall, sat on the chair, and answered her friend. "Hi Ciel, how are you? I haven't heard from you in about a week."

"Sweetie, we have great news. Tulane Medical School accepted Paul for this September's class!"

"What wonderful news! Does that mean he won't have to take any more college courses before he starts?"

"Yes! Doctor Charles Powell, the Dean of Tulane Medical School, said he was satisfied with Paul's preparation. Paul, his brother, and uncle met with Dr. Powell a few days ago. Both of them were Tulane alumni. After the Dean discussed Paul's qualifications with the three of them, he decided in consideration of Paul's grades during his two years of pre-med at Centenary and his experiences in the war, he is ready to meet the challenges of medical school!"

They talked at some length about her and Paul's plans to move to New Orleans. Sweetie knew she would miss Vonciel very much. Vonciel continued, "I have more good news to tell you."

"You're expecting again."

"How can you tell?"

"Ciel, your radiance comes through over the phone." They shared a laugh. Sweetie continued, "You'll have two little ones to watch over. I guess Paula will be big enough to help you."

"Yea, I expect her to pitch in, and we'll have domestic help in the city... Sweetie, I have to run. I see Paul's car coming up the driveway. See you soon, I hope. Bye."

"Bye, Ciel."

Sweetie hung up the phone and returned to the parlor to inspect the mystery letter. It was an onionskin airmail envelope addressed to "Mrs. Mildred Glass for Lt. Robert Howe, SAAF". There were three stamps affixed, each a different denomination from the Union of South Africa. The return address was Durban, South Africa, but with a strange street name, if that was even what it was. It was now about 10:30 a.m., so she thought she would walk over to Bobby's apartment and give it to him right away. Lucille was on the sunporch helping Melba shell peas, and Tommy was reading a school book, so she asked Tommy to walk over to Bobby's with her. Tommy ran ahead of her, bounded up the stairs, and burst into Bobby's apartment. The room was dark, and the shades were pulled down in every window. Bobby was still asleep.

"Wake up, Uncle Bobby! Mom has something for you."

Tommy's exclamation and the bright light through the door woke Bobby. If anyone else, including Sweetie, burst into his room like that, he might have thrown something at them for waking him; but he realized it was Tommy and said weakly, "Hi buddy, what are you doing?"

"Mom has something for you. Uncle Bobby, are you hung over again?"

"Yeah, I guess I am..."

"Quit drinking so much whiskey. It's not good for you!" the little boy declared.

His mouth was so dry he had trouble speaking, but Bobby answered, "I will, buddy; I will try harder."

Sweetie entered the apartment through the open door, walked straight to a window, and raised the shade. She looked around the apartment and exclaimed, "Bobby, this place is a pig's sty. It looks like there a dozen empty Scotch bottles scattered around; every dish you own must be dirty in the sink; and you haven't taken the garbage out in a month or more."

Bobby was still lying on his stomach on his cot, covered with a sheet. He slept in the buff. He said, "You two go out on the steps for a few minutes. I'm not decent and I need to use the bathroom. I'll put on some clothes and holler at you when I'm dressed."

They sat on the stairs for about five minutes, Sweetie holding the envelope. Tommy asked what it was. Sweetie answered, "It's a letter from South Africa to Uncle Bobby. I have no idea what it's about."

Bobby yelled for them to come back into the flat.

They entered the apartment again and found Bobby clad in dirty Levi's, barefooted with no shirt, removing several pairs of dirty underwear from the only easy chair in the apartment. After he cleared the chair, Sweetie sat down. Tommy sat on one of the dusty kitchen table chairs and flipped through a comic book he left in the apartment the last time he visited his uncle. Bobby sat on the edge of his cot. He saw Sweetie was holding a letter and said, "Tommy said you had something for me. What is it?"

"It's a letter from someone in South Africa."

"I don't know anyone in South Africa."

"You know Roddy Hewitt's mother and sister. It must be from one of them. You can't find out until you open the envelope."

"Put it over on the table. I'll read it later."

"No, Bobby, you need to read it right now. It might be something important."

"I'm not interested... but I can see you're dying of curiosity, so you read it."

Sweetie opened a kitchen drawer, brought out a clean knife, and cut open the envelope. It was two onionskin pages with a very legible masculine handwriting on the front and back of each page. She stood by the window to have enough light to read. She concentrated on what the letter said, turned over the first page and read a little further before looking over towards Bobby and said, "Bobby... you will not believe this... Bobby, this letter is from Roddy Hewitt..."

"Oh, Sweetie, don't fall for that; it must be a scam. Hustlers run many con games on veterans and their families, often pretending to be a friend or family member who was missing in action."

"No, Bobby, this is real. Roddy did not die in the Mediterranean Sea. A German U-boat rescued him, and he spent the war as a POW in eastern Germany. His family received no notice he was a POW; they thought he was dead. He returned home earlier this year and had difficulty finding an address for you. Here, read it yourself."

Bobby took the letter and tried to read it, but his hands shook and he got weak in the knees; maybe the hangover was causing this condition, or maybe it was his emotions. He sat in the easy chair and handed the letter to Sweetie. She saw tears in his eyes; she had never seen Bobby cry. He tried to hold it back, but his emotions let themselves go free. He cried. Tommy asked his mother what was the matter with Uncle Bobby. She answered his uncle was crying because he was happy about the news in the letter. Bobby asked her to read the letter to him. When she finished, he asked her to read it to him again. She did.

Tommy exclaimed, "Wow, Uncle Bobby, your friend said you shot down eleven German fighters during the war!"

"Some were Italian, and some were slow-moving German bombers."

Roddy mentioned how his sister and mother tried to keep the farm in business during the war, but it was a large farm; he added parenthetically, "You Yanks might call it a ranch," and adequate help was unavailable during the war. Roddy added a P.S. to his letter: "Thanks for the nice letter of condolence you sent my mother and sister from your hospital bed in Egypt. It was premature, but we will hold on to it until we actually need it. Also, thanks for not mentioning some of the joints in Cairo you hauled me away from a few times."

Sweetie was most intrigued by the last paragraph, where Roddy invited Bobby to Durban to help bring the farm back into shape, and he added, "That is, if you have not married this Sweetie girl you seem to be so keen on."

Sweetie thought a trip to South Africa might bring Bobby back to life. Even in the dim light of the apartment she detected a gleam in his eye. She asked him, "Is this trip something you want to do?"

"Yeah, it would be nice to see Roddy, but I don't know if I can afford the expense?"

"You can well afford it; almost all your pay for six years was sent to me, which I deposited it in the bank for you. I keep up with your account balances and know you have hardly spent any of your savings. The balance in your account at the Lumberman's Bank is more than adequate for you to undertake this trip.

"Sit down here at the kitchen table and write out a brief note to Roddy. Vonciel knows a ham radio operator in the Terrace; ham radio is back on the air now, and we can get a message to Roddy by tomorrow. It will be much faster than airmail and a lot cheaper than a cablegram."

Bobby and Roddy exchanged four ham radio messages apiece during the next two weeks, and decided that Bobby would travel to Durban on August 29-30 which would give him sufficient time to have his passport renewed, obtain necessary travel documents and to take care of other business. Pops recommended a travel agent in the City, and she made the flight arrangements. Bobby would fly a Pan-Am Constellation from New Orleans via Havana and Caracas to Rio de Janeiro, with an overnight layover there; then another Constellation flight to Cape Town; a four-hour layover there, then a South African Air passenger plane to Durban. He purchased an open return ticket, since he was not sure how long he would stay with Roddy. He told Sweetie he might stay in South Africa for as long as a month or two.

Bobby was excited about the trip, and the change in Bobby's demeanor became noticeable immediately. With some help from Tommy and Sweetie, he cleaned his apartment, and brought it into inspection-ready condition–much like his quarters on the Enterprise and Yorktown. He quickly reacquired his interest in baseball. It was too late to earn a position on the local semi-pro team, but he took Tommy and Lucille to every home game. Lucille was more interested in the peanuts and cherry snowball she could buy with the two nickels Uncle Bobby gave her than the game. Tommy paid close attention to the field. The intricacies of the game Uncle Bobby pointed out enthralled him. The baseball fundamentals and techniques Bobby taught Tommy over the years provided the foundation of baseball skills and savvy Tommy later used as an all-state pitcher for his high school team, and as a three-year baseball letterman at the Naval Academy.

In early August, Bobby was outside the garage over which his apartment was situated, with a hoe, chopping at a few weeds around the base of the structure. It was late morning; the sun was almost overhead, and it was hot and sultry. He was not working too hard; he had been at his task for about a quarter hour without showing much progress. Sweetie watched him through the kitchen window for a short time, smiled, and decided to find out what he was doing. She was in a yellow sundress with a floppy, wide brimmed hat. She was barefooted in the house, but put on some sandals because there were stickers in the grass outside. She quietly walked up behind Bobby and asked, "What are up to?"

"I'm hoeing weeds around the base of the garage."

"No, you're not. You've been hoeing on one poor weed forever. Were you waiting for me to come outside? You could have walked a few steps and knocked on the kitchen door, you know. I'm here now; what do you want?"

"Sweetie... I depart in a few weeks... I... I wonder if we might get together... just the two of us before I leave."

"Certainly," she smiled. "Let's take the Rebel to the City a few days from now to shop for things you need for your trip. We can see a movie at the Saenger Theatre with Ciel and Paul, and stay overnight at the Roosevelt Hotel. We'll tell everyone we're staying with Ciel and Paul; they will cover for us."

"Are Ciel and Paul aware of our relationship?"

"Of course. I told Ciel about us when I got home from Pensacola and again when we got back from San Francisco. I'm sure she tells Paul everything."

They arrived in New Orleans about 10:30 a.m., and shopped for several hours on Canal Street. Sweetie purchased two outfits at Maison Blanche after modeling them for Bobby. He thought she wore them nicely. They ate lunch downtown and later met Vonciel and Paul for a mid-afternoon matinee at the Saenger Theater. Sweetie had not seen Vonciel in two weeks, and was surprised at how much further along she was in her pregnancy.

Paul and Bobby had seen little of each other since returning from the war. The two men engaged in an animated conversation until Vonciel announced they should go into the theater. The most current Abbott and Costello movie, The Time of Their Lives was the feature. As the two couples exited the theatre, they all agreed it was not the best Abbott and Costello movie they had seen.

They walked in good spirits to the Roosevelt Hotel, and sat at a table in the Sazerac Bar. As is the custom for most patrons at the bar, all ordered sazeracs.

They talked, they joked, and they laughed. They consumed many more drinks. They ate a light meal and smoked many Lucky Strike cigarettes. They downed a few more drinks. It was almost like they were back in high school, enjoying a carefree Friday night out; not once did the conversation even hint of their wartime experiences.

At about 10 p.m., Vonciel said her ankles were swollen, and she needed to get home to get off her feet. The party broke up; Sweetie and Bobby walked their friends to their car parked in a nearby parking lot. Sweetie hugged Vonciel and voiced her lonesomeness at their not living close together anymore. As Paul opened the car door, he and Bobby embraced tightly and held it for a few moments. As they backed away, Paul told Bobby, "Good luck," and Bobby responded, "Take care".

Sweetie and Bobby walked back to the hotel, feeling the effects of the drinks. Sweetie leaned against Bobby, giggled, and said, "Guide me to the room, I can't walk straight!"

Bobby replied with mirth, "No, you guide me; I'm the one who can't walk straight!"

As they walked holding hands the two blocks to the hotel, Sweetie sang Rum and Coca-Cola loudly enough for passersby to get a chuckle watching the two of them. Some of the lyrics escaped her, so she hummed the parts she could not recall. Singing was not really one of Sweetie's many talents.

Arm-in-arm and laughing, they walked through the hotel lobby and into the waiting elevator. Sweetie looked at the elevator operator and slurring her words said, "My kind sir, please deliver this lady and her consort to the sixth floor." The elevator operator tipped his little cap and answered, "Yes, my lady, I am pleased to be of service," causing Sweetie to break out in giggles.

Sweetie went straight to the oversized bed which the maid already turned down, plopped unto the mattress, and proclaimed, "Take me now; ravish me; sate your lustful hunger with my body. I am powerless to resist!"

Bobby lay atop of her, kissed her enthusiastically, and said, "My lady, it is not so easy for a mere serf to service such a noble woman. We must prepare."

She giggled and rolled Bobby off and said, "Well, you prepare thyself as best you can without me; in the meantime, this lady shall have to pee. Knave, be shed of those rags before this lady shall complete her visit to the royal commode."

She returned to find Bobby under the covers and said, "Knave, is thy tool ready for servicing this lady?"

"I think so, my lady."

Sweetie pulled back the covers and said, "Nay, it is not ready. We shall strengthen it." She grasped his penis and stroked it. Recalling the night in Pensacola, she kissed it, and then put the head in her mouth. She rose up and said, "Knave, I believe thy piece is now ready to do its work."

"Okay, lie down here..."

"What? Never! No lowly peasant shall lie atop this lady; she shall mount thee instead!"

She straddled him and eased his member into herself. There was no foreplay, so her vagina was not well-lubricated, but enough so to allow his penis to slide in. With a slow rhythm, she moved up and down on him.

"Sweetie, I don't think I can hold back!"

"Silence, knave! You will hold it until this lady has her pleasure; then she shall decide if you may release that which is filling thy groin."

Sweetie continued the slow bounce, and then increased the frequency.

"Bobby, it's coming... it's coming... oh, oh..."

"I'm coming too, Sweetie, I can't hold it back any longer... Oh!"

She got off him, and they lay side-by-side, Sweetie with her hand on his face, both of them spent.

After a few minutes of silence, Bobby got off the bed and lit two cigarettes, handing one to Sweetie. After a few puffs, he looked at her with some concern. "Sweetie, we were drunk. We forgot to use a rubber."

"Worry not, my sweet knave. This lady shall bear thee a male child, and he shall be of royal linage."

"Sweetie, I am serious. What if you get pregnant? What about Harry and Mr. and Mrs. Glass?"

"Harry would love to have a pregnant wife sitting on the stage at his political rallies, smiling and waving to the crowd. He'll think it makes him look more virile. He already believes I'm having an affair, but has no clue to whom I'm passing out my favors. Pops and Mama Ola will think the baby is Harry's; they're unaware we have not had sex in years. That's something Harry would never mention to them... Besides, I want another baby, and Harry isn't willing to sire one with me."

"Maybe I shouldn't go to South Africa until we see what happens."

"Nonsense! If I discover I'm with child, I'll get a message to you right away. Besides, you're only planning to be there two months... now spoon with me, and let's go to sleep."

New Orleans, Louisiana

August 28, 1946

They assumed they would have one more night together before Bobby departed. Sweetie planned she would drive him to New Orleans the night before he was to catch his 7 a.m. flight, and they would spend one last night properly saying their farewells; but such plans were not to be. Tommy insisted he should help Uncle Bobby board the plane, and then Lucille decided she wanted to come with everybody.

Melba knew of a tourist court convenient to the airport which allowed Colored nannies to stay with the family in their room and sleep on a cot to help tend to the children. Sweetie, although believing such arrangement was probably in violation of Louisiana law, called the tourist court long distance. The manager assured her a room would be available that night.

Their party checked into the cabin late the afternoon of the day before Bobby's departure. The room was large with two oversized beds, a couch, a table and chairs and a small cot off to the side for Melba. Bobby asked the clerk if the room had an alarm clock. The clerk told them no, but he would knock on their door at whatever time they wanted to be awakened. Bobby told him to knock at 5 a.m., and the clerk made a note to do so.

Before they left home, Melba prepared enough fried chicken and potato salad for everyone's supper; they brought the meal with them in three old shoeboxes lined with tinfoil. Melba also made a large jug of sweet tea. Sweetie brought several hard-boiled eggs and two thermoses of coffee for their breakfasts the next morning. Having brought a quart of milk in the new aluminum Coca-Cola ice chest, the children would have corn flakes, bananas and milk for breakfast. Sweetie read to the children until they were sleepy. Bobby and Tommy shared one bed, and Sweetie and Lucille the other. Melba slept on the cot along the far wall.

At 5 a.m., the clerk knocked on the door. Bobby answered wearing only his shorts. The clerk said, "Five a.m., sir," and held out his hand. Bobby got a dime from the bedside table and handed it to the clerk, who looked at it and continued to hold out his hand. Bobby gave him another dime. The clerk walked away without another word.

Bobby checked his two suitcases inside the terminal building. The agent at the desk told him he needed to claim his luggage in Rio and recheck it to Cape Town; he would reclaim it there, too, and check it on to Durban. The five walked onto the tarmac along with several other passengers as the ground crew was wheeling the large movable staircase alongside the Constellation which would fly Bobby to Rio. Lucille expressed her fear of climbing the steep stairway, so Melba said she would stay at the bottom of the stairs with Lucille while Sweetie and Tommy went aboard with Bobby. Bobby hugged Melba, and then picked Lucille up, kissed her on her cheek, telling her goodbye.

Bobby, Sweetie, and Tommy climbed the stairs into the plane. As Bobby was settling into his aisle seat, the Constellation's pilot walked past. Tommy asked him, "Are you flying this airplane?"

The pilot replied he was, and asked, "Are you traveling with us?"

"No sir, I'm here to say goodbye to my Uncle Bobby." With a big grin on his face, Tommy continued, "He flew a Messerschmitt in the war... and a Spitfire."

The pilot looked quizzically at Bobby, who explained, "I was a flight instructor for a time in Scotland. I sometimes flew captured Messerschmitts in training exercises, and occasionally a Spitfire in training, but never in combat..."

Tommy interrupted, "But he did fly a Hellcat against the Japs!"

The pilot looked at Bobby and asked, "I guess you were on a carrier in the Pacific."

"The Enterprise and the Yorktown."

"I flew a B-29 out of Saipan. We probably passed each other in the sky sometimes... Tell you what, young man, come with me and I'll show you the cockpit, if your mother says okay."

Sweetie nodded her assent. The pilot looked again at Bobby and said, "When we get up to altitude, come into the cockpit. I will let you handle the controls of this bird."

"I better not; I'm likely to do a victory roll with this giant."

"Yeah, I expect such from all you fighter jockeys I carry, but come into the cockpit anyway. We can have some coffee and I'll show you how this thing works. Come on, young man, let's see what's up front here."

Bobby and Sweetie looked at each other. Bobby said, "Alone at last. We better say our goodbyes now." He placed his hand on her nape and pulled her face towards him. They kissed, and held the kiss for a time. Bobby's tongue found Sweetie's.

She pulled away and said, "You know, don't you, that is how babies get made?" And then she put her hand on his nape and pulled him to her, and they kissed some more.

Moments after they parted, the stewardess returned from the cockpit with Tommy and told Sweetie, "You need to deplane now, ma'am, we're about to close the doors."

Bobby thought about picking up Tommy to say goodbye, but decided he was getting too big, so he gave him a bear hug, told him goodbye, and said, "Buddy, take good care of your mother and sister while I'm gone."

Sweetie got out of the seat; Bobby stood up and they kissed one last time. Bobby whispered, "You'll send word right away if anything develops from our mistake the other night, right?"

"If anything develops, you'll be the first to find out about it... We'll meet again, fighter jockey."

Chapter 7

Durban, Union of South Africa

August 30, 1946

Bobby gazed at the lights of the city as the aging C-47, with only six passengers aboard, made its final approach into Durban's Stamford Hill Aerodrome. The DC-3, as South African Airlines preferred to call this plane, touched down and taxied to the tarmac near the passenger terminal. Bobby waited by the plane to retrieve his luggage; it was a little chilly, since the Southern Hemisphere winter was still in progress, so he slipped on the leather flight jacket he carried on the flights. While waiting for the ground crew to offload his luggage, he lit a cigarette; but as he took the first puff, a tall blonde ran up to him, grabbed him, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and planted a wet kiss on his lips.

Bobby recognized her immediately, but pulled away to get a better look. She stood at least as tall as his five-foot nine-inch frame. Her long hair was in a ponytail and she was attired in American-style Levi's jeans, a man's blue shirt, and cowboy boots. He recalled her figure to be easy on the eyes when she gussied up, but you could not tell in this outfit. She was five years older than him, thus four years younger than her brother. Her face was windblown and well-tanned from working outdoors many years.

"Hi Winnie, it's nice to see you again! Where's your brother?"

"He's right behind me... here he is now!"

Roddy sprinted the last few yards to Bobby, and they embraced like only two brothers-in-arms can. The two then stood apart and looked each other over. Bobby spoke first. "Man, you look great; none the worse for wear from your ordeal."

"Clean living will do that for you. The Luftwaffe treated us well in the luft stalag, but I can't say the same for the Russians who liberated us... Yank, you look great, too. I assume you've been leading an exemplary life since the Yankee Navy let you go."

"Just like you taught me: a bottle of booze every evening, two packs of cigarettes a day, and a different woman every night."

Winnie quipped, "Hah, I doubt that. I know you to be a one-woman man." And with a smile, she added, "I'll just have to see what I can do to change you."

His luggage was on the tarmac; Winnie grabbed one piece and Roddy the other. Bobby protested, but Winnie said, "You are our honored guest, and we will treat you like one."

They walked through the small terminal to the car park where Roddy left the Range Rover. Bobby noted how it was dusty and beat-up, with almost every metal surface scratched or dented. They put the luggage in the back, and Roddy told Bobby to ride in the passenger seat; Winnie squeezed into the backseat, which was loaded with various items of farm equipment. The engine coughed as Roddy started it and jackrabbited as he pulled away. He told Bobby, "Your first job will be to overhaul this engine and transmission. This old pre-war beauty has over 350,000 miles on it, and seems to be about to peter out on me... Are you hungry? You remember it's a three-hour drive to the farm from here. There's a tavern close by which has decent beer and sandwiches."

"Sure, that was a long flight from Cape Town with nothing to eat or drink."

Bogalusa, Louisiana

September 17, 1946

The phone rang six times; Sweetie was about to hang up, thinking Vonciel must already have turned in for the night, when Vonciel answered.

"Ciel, I hope I didn't wake you. I know it's late, but long-distance rates are so much cheaper at night."

"No, we're still up. We were in the den in back. This house is much larger than what we at first planned to buy; but with three kids and planning at least one more, we need the space."

"How do you like your new house? Where did y'all buy?"

"We love it; we bought Uptown. It's a two-story stucco with five bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a screened porch. We have plenty of room for you to visit. Paul takes the streetcar down St. Charles Avenue, which is only two blocks away, to get to school, and I love this neighborhood."

"I have to plan a visit soon... Ciel, guess what?"

"Please, Sweetie, please don't tell me you are pregnant from that last night with Bobby..."

"Maybe so; I'm five days late."

"That isn't long enough to be sure."

"It is for me. I'm never this late; never!"

"What are you going to tell Harry? He'll demand to know who fathered this child."

"I will tell him it's none of his business. He doesn't tell me the names of those eighteen- and nineteen-year-old whores he sleeps with, so he doesn't get to know who my good friend is."

"Does Bobby know yet?"

"No. I don't want to tell him until I'm completely certain."

"Sweetie, I... I don't know what to say. It looks like you've created a real mess, but you're my best friend, and I'll do anything I can to help you. I'll light a candle and pray for you at my church for sure."

They talked a few minutes more before saying goodbye. Vonciel hung up the phone and though to herself, "Sweetie is the smartest person I have ever known, but how can she think anything positive will come from this?"

Washington, D.C.

September 24, 1946

"Hi Harry... or rather, allow me to address you as Senator Glass. Good morning, Senator; sit down... you want coffee, or something stronger?"

"Coffee will be fine; it's too early to be drinking."

"Good boy, we need to cultivate that wholesome family-man image." Rand Albright buzzed Angela to bring each some black coffee. "Well, Senator, have you been getting any lately?"

"Not as much as I need. Baton Rouge is slim pickings compared to wartime D.C. I'm eager to get back here."

"I have confidence that you'll win this race; it'll be hard work, but I feel like we'll be successful."

"I hope you can get Gary back to Washington. He and I work well together as a team."

"His race is more problematic than yours. I predict he'll be successful, but it will be an uphill fight. I recommended he not run for D.A. in his county. The incumbent unexpectedly announced he would seek reelection and we concluded Gary could not beat him. Gary has a fair chance if the congressional seat election is his first try for office...

"We need to concentrate on your election right now, though. Avery Pitts has a good idea you're planning to enter the race. He's been in Congress for 26 years, and has beaten back every challenge. You won't blindside him like you did Al Sims in the state election. Pitts will be ready for you."

"Between your efforts and my dad's, it looks like we have enough money pledged to mount a successful challenge to Congressman Pitts."

"Oh, you'll have enough money to run a decent campaign, but there is no way you can outspend your opponent. Avery Pitts and his gang will outspend you two or three to one. We have to use our resources smarter than he uses his."

"Do we have any idea how he plans to spend his money?"

"Senator, I know the precise details of what he has up his sleeve. I have eyes and ears inside his campaign. They'll saturate the district with billboards featuring a picture of the congressman looking statesmanlike. He will run full page newspaper ads and a lot of radio spots. He'll make himself available for friendly newspaper interviews touting his accomplishments. The Baton Rouge papers will back him all the way."

"Sounds like we have an uphill battle. What will we do?"

"We'll also go strong on billboards. We need to scout out better locations than those of the congressman. I want to use the picture of you and your friend... what's his name, Bobby, looking out over the Mississippi River. That damn picture should earn the photographer a Pulitzer Prize. I also want several billboards to feature a picture of you in a hardhat at a construction site reviewing plans with the architect and contractor. We will do a few early radio spots, but not a lot until later in the campaign; we have a few surprises up our sleeves to spring on Pitts. We'll do interviews with all the newspapers in the district, whether they're daily, weekly or monthly. New Orleans isn't in the sixth district, but the three New Orleans papers have a wide circulation in parts of the district outside of Baton Rouge. Pitts has been crosswise with the New Orleans papers for years, so they won't do him any favors. We can get the New Orleans papers to do a few feature articles on you and your family. We'll emphasis how your wife volunteered at the USO canteen in New Orleans early in the war, how she organized blood drives and bond sales, and her visitations with families of servicemen killed in action. We will make certain the press emphasizes how you were exempt from the draft but volunteered for service, and then became a hero at the Battle off Samar.

"We are going to out-hustle Pitts. They man is 76 years old and doesn't have the stamina to keep up with you. We'll hold frequent rallies in every town and burg in the district. He can't maintain such a pace."

"What kind of surprise do we have in store for Pitts?"

"Let's save that discussion for later. I have other items I want to discuss with you before we get into too much detail over that. I've followed the campaign of another naval war hero running for congress in Massachusetts. He's running a well-organized campaign. Many of his tactics can be adapted for your run in Louisiana. But Harry–I mean, Senator Glass–you have a major asset the Massachusetts candidate does not. He's a bachelor, and you have Sweetie, who we underused in your senate campaign, but who we will use in a big way for this election."

"You think Sweetie will be an asset for our campaign?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Yes, she will. In the state election, she spoke only at a few women's club meetings and a few social events, but she wowed the groups she appeared before. She's articulate, glamourous, personable and witty, and the people she encounters recognize her intelligence. We'll use her talents in this campaign much more than we did the last time. We'll have her give a short speech at your rallies before you come to the podium. As you walk to the podium to deliver your address, you and she will pause and kiss. You'll smile and spontaneously say something cute about her as she walks back to her chair. Our people will prepare spontaneous remarks for you to memorize.

"I want her to campaign for you in south Baton Rouge. That's Pitts' home turf, but I believe she can neutralize his strength in his home base among the younger voters particularly the younger women voters of that area. I want her up before dawn and out late at night, meeting the shift changes at the Standard Oil refinery in north Baton Rouge. There are a lot of women workers at the plants, and Sweetie should meet every one of them. Pitts doesn't have good rapport with the working class. I want her to greet the nurse shift changes at the big hospitals in Baton Rouge, and even meet the shift changes some of the smaller ones throughout the district. The telephone company employs a lot of young women. I want her greeting those operators as they go to or get off work. Among young voters, and more so among young women voters, she'll be the face of your campaign. Will she be able to carry such a load?"

Harry smiled humorlessly. "She'll do whatever I tell her to do – but don't women voters cast their ballots the way their husbands tell them to vote?"

"In the past, yes; but polls since the war tell us that women voters are now showing more independence when they enter the voting booth. After working ten hours a day in an assembly plant during the war, many wives aren't so obedient to their husbands' wishes anymore. Often when a woman is enthusiastic about a candidate, the husband will vote for her candidate to please her. We'll take advantage of these changing trends to the maximum extent we can. I think the women's vote will be decisive in this campaign.

"Now: let's take a pee break, then we can discuss the two issues where I think Avery Pitts is most vulnerable. We want to blindside him on these two issues real late in the campaign. We'll save a lot of our money for a radio blitzkrieg during the last three weeks of the campaign."

New Orleans, Louisiana

September 28, 1946

"Paul, honey, you're up early for a Saturday."

"Ciel, babe, I have a lot of studying to do. I've been in class for only a few weeks, and I'm already falling behind most of my classmates. I think I can catch up today and tomorrow... Ciel, you're worried about something. What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I'm still adapting to the new home, and new location, and the new routine. I miss living close to Sweetie, but I'll be okay."

Paul cocked an eyebrow at her. "Uh-huh. I know it's something deeper than what you're telling me. You should let me help you."

"Paul, I don't want to burden you with this." She sighed. "It's something Sweetie told me."

"Hmmm. You might as well tell me now, so I can help you come to terms with whatever it is and get back to my books."

She sat down on the couch, looked at the floor, then up at her husband. "Paul, Sweetie may be pregnant."

He ran a tired hand over his face, then: "Oh no, don't tell me that. I assume Harry isn't the father. What in the hell... does she have any idea of she's doing?"

"No, but she and Harry haven't slept together for years. You know who the father is, don't you?"

He sighed. "What in the goddamn hell is she planning to do?"

"Paul, please don't take the Lord's name in vain! ... She's as cheerful as can be. She thinks everything will be rosy, and her life is just going to go on much the same as before."

"Baby, I'm sorry about the language, but I'm flabbergasted over what you just told me." He sat down beside her and slid his arm around her shoulder. "That woman's sharp as a tack, but in this case, she's made a damn stupid decision. She doesn't love Harry, does she? Why doesn't she divorce him and marry, or even just take up with Bobby?"

"Come now, she's already sinning with her escapades with Bobby, and I wouldn't want her to live in sin with him. Honey, she is not about to divorce Harry. She's wanted another baby for some time now, and Harry refuses to provide her with one. He'd rather run around with those loose women of his. She's my dearest and closest friend, and I hate to say anything bad about her... but she likes the life she's living too much to give it up, even for Bobby. The Glasses let her keep one side of the house, she has her own maid five days a week, she has a new Ford, and she and Ola spend a lot of money on clothes-shopping together here in the city. The Glasses love her, even if Harry doesn't. She won't give those things up for an uncertain future with Bobby. I know she does not love Harry, though, and they haven't had sex with each other since before she delivered Lucille. She loves Bobby, and I'm sure she'll find ways of getting together with him as often as she can.

"I don't know of anything we can do. Ever since I learned of her pregnancy, I pray to St. Gerard Majella for her every day at St. Francis of Assisi."

Hewitt Farm

near Durban, Union of South Africa

September 29, 1946

"Great steak, Roddy; I've never seen meat cooked over coals outdoors like you did tonight."

"I braaied the steaks over charcoal, as we put it; we manufacture that stuff here on the farm. I'll show you that facility soon, and also the meat slaughterhouse. You still have a lot to see here."

"I might skip the slaughterhouse; it's probably not a good idea for me to see how my steaks get to the table... Kitten, excellent dessert, or as Roddy has taught me to say, it was lekker. If I stay long enough, I might learn your language."

"Thanks for the compliment, Bobby. We love having you as a guest. Stay as long as you like."

Roddy put his arm around Kitten's waist and said, "Let's take our wine into the den and smoke a cigar or two. This is a fine way to finish the weekend, but it'll be back to work early tomorrow morning."

The four carried their wine glasses into the spacious den - hot embers still glowing in the massive stone fireplace along the north wall. Roddy put a few logs onto the andirons and poked the embers. A fire blazed up quickly warming the chilly room.

Roddy sat in the large stuffed chair, and Kitten squeezed in beside him. Bobby sat on the oversized sofa, and Winnie, dressed more provocatively tonight than when she met him at the airport, wearing a low-cut blouse which exposed much cleavage. She settled in next to Bobby, squeezing as close to him as Kitten was to Roddy. She was a very attractive woman when she fixed herself up.

Bobby took another sip of wine and said, "Y'all make a good wine here. I know very little about wine, but this taste good..."

"We'll get you to our vineyard and winery soon. This is our cabernet sauvignon; we're trying to find an export market for some of our wine production. You've only seen a little of our operation here so far."

Bobby laughed. "Nope, since I arrived, you've kept me locked away in your garage working on the Range Rover! Except for the condition of the body, it will now run as good as new."

Winnie put her arm on the sofa behind Bobby's back; when he looked over at her, she looked back at him and smiled coquettishly.

"Roddy, you've said you would fill me in on the details of your capture and confinement," he said quietly. "Your letter lacked specifics. Now might be a good time to fill in the gaps."

Roddy filled everyone's wine glass and sat back down next to Kitten. "You saw me ditch the Hurricane into the sea and exit the cockpit before it went under. I waved to you and I knew you saw me, since you waved the wing before heading south. I later learned you didn't reach our base, but crash landed on the beach, and the I-ties captured you. I continued to float around, waiting patiently for the Royal Navy destroyer to come pluck me out of the water. In your last transmission to me before I hit the water you advise the destroyer was about an hour and a half away. I was in the water for about twenty minutes when the Kraut U-boat we saw earlier in our patrol surfaced about two hundred meters from me. Two armed crewmen paddled a dingy to me and hauled me into the boat. I spent about two weeks on the U-boat; it wasn't too bad there. The chow was okay, and some of the crew spoke English, and I speak decent German."

Roddy took another gulp from his wine glass and topped off everybody again. All four, including the two women, lit cigars in the interim. Roddy continued, "The U-boat rendezvoused with an Italian destroyer, and transferred me to them. The Italians were not as friendly as the Germans; they were a dour lot. I was kept in the brig while aboard the vessel. They brought me ashore in Italy and confined me to a small jail, pending transfer to a Prigione di Guerra, Italian for POW camp. A German SS officer in the area took an interest in me; he wondered what the hell a German speaking, South African Air Force pilot was doing in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. He claimed me from the Italians and sent me to Berlin for the experts to interrogate. The Krauts seemed to think I was on an espionage or sabotage mission.

"I spent several weeks in the German capital undergoing intense questioning and, well, some torture. They got no information of value from me, so, apparently in frustration, the SS brought in the Luftwaffe pilot who shot-up my plane and he confirmed my story. He was a rather decent chap by the name of Ernst Pohl. When he learned I ditched my plane after our aerial encounter, he was a happy man, since my going down after our brief dogfight was another confirmed kill for him."

Roddy paused his account to fill everyone's glass again. Winnie let her left arm slip off the sofa and come to rest on Bobby's left shoulder. He wasn't comfortable with her gesture, but said nothing. Roddy continued his narrative, "After several weeks as a guest of the SS, they decided I was harmless and sent me to the Luftwaffe for internment in a luft stalag in eastern Germany near the Polish border. With me getting moved from one place to another, nobody notified the Red Cross I was being held prisoner... Hey, Yank, before I forget; I remember you were credited with only one or two kills before that Kraut shot me down. I saw in your jacket you finished your service in the SAAF with eleven kills. How did that happen?"

"I guess you were a good teacher."

"Not good enough to keep myself out of trouble! But getting back to my story: I stayed in the luft stalag for the rest of the war. The Luftwaffe guards treated us well, and provided adequate amounts of decent food to eat. We stayed busy planning our escapes, none of which were successful, and with various lectures and recreational activities.

"The Soviets liberated our camp in early April 1945. The NKGB was right behind the combat troops who took the camp. It's not accurate to say the Soviets liberated us, because we were held behind the barbed wire for several months while they vetted each of us. They identified two Polish pilots who flew for the RAF. Those men were taken to a wall and shot, just like that. I was the only South African in the stalag, so I figured I was next.

"A Russian woman NKGB major took a special interest in me. She was stacked; wore a tight fitting, dark-green uniform which enhanced her beautiful anties, what you Yanks call boobs. Her English was flawless.

"She led me to her office; I was sure she felt a randi for me. I mean... how could she resist a tall, blonde, blue-eyed man, but not so; she didn't want my body, it turned out she really wanted to interrogate me. My account of how I came to be in that luft stalag satisfied her after three days of intense questioning, so she signed the documents releasing me in late-September, 1945.

"The Soviets released me from the camp but didn't provide transportation. I worked my way across the Soviet zone of occupation to the British Sector, but it took almost a month, mostly by foot. The Brits were suspicious of my story and kept me in confinement for two weeks while checking me out to make certain I wasn't a Nazi war criminal in disguise. Once satisfied as to my identity, they notified Mom and Sis here I was alive and arranged for transportation home. And there you have it."

"Roddy, that is an interesting story. You could write a book about the ordeals you went through!"

"Maybe someday I will... Not long after arriving home, I tried to contact you. Fighter Command stored their war records in boxes, most of which were unlabeled, in a warehouse in Pretoria. I made two trips to their warehouse and after much digging, I located your file. Of course, your jacket included the address for your next of kin, so I got in touch with you through Mrs. Glass.

"Let's have one more glass of wine and call it a night. Yank, tomorrow I want you and me to fly our single engine Storch to the western perimeter. It looks as if the Zulus are stealing cattle from one of our remote pastures. We turn a blind eye if they take one or two cows now and then to feed their village, but it seems they're getting greedy and selling meat on the market. We'll need to carry weapons tomorrow; are you checked out on the British Sten machine gun and the Colt 1911 semi-automatic?"

"Yeah, the RAF qualified me on both. Are we expecting trouble?"

"No, but when we go out to remote parts of our holdings, prudence dictates we be prepared for any contingency. We'll see everybody in the morning."

Bobby stood up, and Winnie stood with him, keeping her hand on his shoulder. She asked, "Bobby, do you want me to come tuck you in?"

Roddy hollered from across the room, "Winnie, how often do I have to tell you; keep your hands off our guests!"

Bogalusa, Louisiana

October 16, 1946

Sweetie put Bobby's letter down. She read it three times since receiving it in the afternoon mail delivery. As usual, she found what he wrote to be amusing; his letters were light and fun to read, and lifted her spirits. He recounted his activities with such enthusiasm it was contagious. In this letter, he told of his encounter with Zulu tribesmen just off the perimeter of the Hewitt farm. They were friendly and curious about the stranger Roddy brought to meet them. Roddy and Bobby followed the Zulu hunting party to their village, and shared a feast with them. The main course was a spicy stew, and Roddy whispered to Bobby it was likely the tribe's cooks used one of the farm's cows the hunting party rustled a few days earlier as the main ingredient. Members of the tribe performed a dance in honor of their guests. They invited Bobby to participate. The only dance he knew was the jitterbug, which he used to dance with Sweetie. One of the Zulu women tried to dance with him, but gave up. The tribe enjoyed a good laugh at Bobby's efforts.

Elsewhere in the letter, he spoke with enthusiasm about riding horses several miles over rough terrain to a secluded beach on the Indian Ocean for a picnic. He included a photo of him, Roddy, and Kitten sitting on a checked tablecloth with a large picnic basket and several bottles of wine. The beach and the ocean could be seen in the background of the picture. One thing about the photo nagged at Sweetie: the photo showed three people sitting on the tablecloth, but she counted four horses behind the picnickers, and someone other than the three sitting at the picnic spread snapped the picture. Bobby did not identify who the fourth person was, so Sweetie tried put it out of her mind. She rationalized it didn't matter if Bobby was seeing someone over there; she and Harry were still husband and wife, so if Harry wanted, she would have sex with him. After all, that is a wife's obligation, she thought. She put the photo and letter back into the onionskin envelope and placed it in the shoebox in her closet. A second shoebox was now almost full of letters from Bobby.

She was now certain she was carrying Bobby's child, and planned writing him a letter the next day to let him know. The cramp in her abdomen returned, causing her to grimace. Cramping occurred several times today, but this was the worst she yet experienced. After feeling her brow, she concluded she was running a low-grade fever so she took a Stanback powder with a glass of water. The hour was after nine p.m., so she looked in on Tommy and Lucille. Tommy's light was on, as he read a library book in bed; she kissed him on the forehead good night, and told him to turn out the light when he finished a chapter. Lucille was lying in bed singing softly to herself; smiling, she listened to her daughter for a little while, then she gave her a good night kiss and told her to turn out the light. Not feeling too well, she went to bed early.

Sleep was fitful; the cramping in her gut would come and go, becoming more and more intense each time it came. She experienced minor nausea about two a.m., so she switched on the bedside lamp, went into the bathroom, and fixed herself a bromo-seltzer and drank it down. The bromo helped alleviate the nausea, but she still could not sleep. She checked the clock a few minutes after five a.m., and not long after, she passed off to sleep.

When she awoke, the room was bright with sunlight, and the clock showed about nine-thirty-five a.m. Both the cramps and the nausea were gone, but she felt ill and weak all over. She hoped Val–Melba's grandniece, who was Sweetie's full-time maid had sent the children off to school on time.

As she threw back the sheets, she saw what was there and screamed for help.

Val hurried into the room and saw the bed and said, "Miss Sweetie, I don't know what to do, let me get Aunt Melba here!"

Without waiting for a reply, she rushed out of the room hollering for her aunt. Melba came right away, and found Sweetie sitting at the top of the bed with her knees up to her chest and her arms around her knees, looking at the mess.

"My goodness child, what's happened? ... You been carrying a baby?"

Sweetie said nothing, just nodded.

"We better get a doctor here right away..."

"No! No doctor. I don't want a doctor coming here. Gossip will get around, and everyone will know what happened!"

"Miss Sweetie, this here is serious. I b'lieve you miscarried your baby, and you need to have a doctor look at you to make sure everything's all right."

Sweetie cried, but between the sobs, she asked Melba to bring the phone from the hall into her room. Melba helped Sweetie out of the bed, and after she placed a towel down, Sweetie sat in the bedside chair. The extension line on the phone was long enough to reach Sweetie sitting in the chair. Sweetie picked up the phone and waited for the operator to ask, "Number, please." She told the operator she wanted to place a long distant call to New Orleans, and gave the operator Vonciel's number. Sweetie continued crying.

Vonciel picked up the phone after three rings and said "Hello?" but no one replied. She knew by the static on the line it must be a long-distance call, so she said hello again. She heard crying and exclaimed, "Sweetie, is that you? What's the matter?"

"Ciel, come get me. I've lost the baby."

"Sweetie, are you all right? Is anybody with you?"

"Yes, Melba and Val are here..." Sweetie couldn't finish the sentence. She handed the phone to Melba.

"Miss Vonciel, can you come get her? She don't want to see a doctor here, but she could bleed to death if she don't."

"I will be there in three hours. Can you watch her?"

"Yes'm, me an' Val will take care of her until you get here. If she bleeds again, I don't care what she wants, I'll throw her over my shoulder and carry her down the street to Dr. Hagood's clinic. Miss Vonciel, please hurry."

Vonciel gave instructions to her own maid, Mimi, and rushed out of the house. She made a quick stop at St. Francis of Assisi, and found a sister who checked a reference. She walked to the nave, and as she approached put money in the donation box. She genuflected to the altar, lit a candle, and prayed to Saint Catherine of Siena, the patron saint for women who suffer miscarriages, praying for Sweetie's recovery. Without further delay, Vonciel returned to her car and drove many miles an hour over the posted speed limits to Bogalusa.

Vonciel entered Sweetie's bedroom less than two-and-a-half hours after talking to her. She spoke for a short time with Sweetie, and right away she, Melba, and Val walked Sweetie to the car and put towels on the back seat on which Sweetie could recline. Melba placed a pillow behind her head and covered her with a blanket.

Vonciel departed the driveway of the Glass's home, having decided to drive Sweetie to Ochsner's Hospital in New Orleans.

Melba and Val walked back into Sweetie's room. Melba said, "We got to clean up this mess, Val, but first, sit down. I gotta tell you som'em." Val complied, and Melba looked her in the eye and said, "You can never talk about what you saw happened here today to nobody, never. Do you promise me? Do you promise me on the grave of your dear, departed mother?"

Val looked frightened. "Yes'm. I promise."

"Good, child. Now, let's get to work."

A policeman in Slidell stopped Vonciel for speeding, but when she frantically explained the situation, the officer provided an escort with siren blaring and red lights blinking all the way to the hospital in New Orleans although he had no jurisdiction in the city. Calling his dispatcher in Slidell over the patrol car's two-way radio, he instructed her to notify Ochsner of their impending arrival. At the hospital, he helped Vonciel walk Sweetie into the hospital admitting area. A nurse and an orderly met them there. They aided Sweetie onto a gurney and wheeled her into a nearby treatment room. The nurse called for the doctor on duty to report "stat."

Vonciel waited in the tiny waiting room off the admitting area. After about an hour and a half, the doctor met with her. He said grimly, "Your friend lost a lot of blood, and she may be bleeding internally. We must operate right away. We need to remove her uterus, but she refuses give permission. Can you talk to her, please?"

Moments later, Vonciel walked into the room. Sweetie was pale and looked like she was unconscious, but when Vonceil approached the side of the bed, Sweetie looked at her, grasped her friend's hand and said "Ciel, I'm scared. Help me."

"You're going to be fine, hon. I said a prayer to the saints for you, and God will watch over you. Sweetie, you have to give them permission for the surgery."

"No... no! I want to have another baby. I can't let them take my uterus!"

"Sweetie, think about Tommy and Lucille. If they don't operate right away, you might die. Your children hardly have a father, and without you, what will happen to them?"

"Ciel... I was so happy thinking about having another baby. I planned to write Bobby and tell him. Everything was going to be swell!"

"Sweetie, please. Loot at me and listen! You WILL probably die without this surgery. Now, give them permission for the surgery, so you can go home in few days to Tommy and Lucille. You can look forward to seeing Bobby again when he returns home."

After sobbing for a moment, Sweetie choked out, "All right, tell the doctor I said let's do it. Please... never tell Bobby or Harry about this."

"I'll never tell them. I promise."

Heidelberg Hotel,

Baton Rouge, Louisiana

April 12, 1947

"Well, Harry, your campaign kicks off today. It's less than a year until the primary, and we'll get a good jump on the incumbent; he knows you're going to run against him, but his campaign staff has no idea we are starting so early. We're going to catch him with his pants down just like we did Sims in the State Senate race... You got any butterflies in your stomach?"

"No, I'm as calm as can be. Look, no shakes at all." Harry held out his hand to show Rand he was experiencing no tremors. "Let's go over everything one more time. Will the crowd be as large as you're hoping?"

"I expect at least a thousand to show up. Sweetie passed out handbills at shift changes at the Standard Oil plant and at the Lady of the Lake Hospital, promising free hot dogs, Cokes, ice cream and snowballs. We expect many families to show up. I don't know where your wife gets her energy, but believe me when I tell you; she's your ace in the hole for this run.

"Another asset in this campaign is Buster Walker. He's a Marine Corps vet who saw action at Iwo Jima and Okinawa, and before the war he was a popular LSU football player from north Baton Rouge. He runs a laundry business only two blocks from the park where we're holding the rally. He'll introduce Sweetie. The two of them will act like old friends who met back in high school when Buster's team played in Bogalusa. She'll speak for about fifteen minutes to introduce you. You'll come on, kiss her as you pass each other, smile and make your spontaneous remarks. By the way, where is Sweetie? I need to be sure she's memorized the speech my people wrote for her."

"She's still in her room next door. Want me to get her?"

Rand replied in the affirmative. She came through the door with a scowl on her face, holding the typewritten speech. She threw it onto the coffee table in front of Rand. "I will not deliver this speech; it's garbage."

Rand blinked. "But Mrs. Glass, my people worked hard on this speech. It makes a few important points about your husband, and it includes some very humorous lines..."

"It's not me, and I won't prostitute myself to say these things. I'll speak extemporaneously and give this rat a good build-up. After they listen to me, they'll think he's a candidate for sainthood and not a drunken sot who beats his wife and sleeps with every underage bimbo who fall for his line of crap..."

Harry almost said the girls weren't underage, but caught himself before he spoke those words. Instead he said, "Honey, I told you I was sorry; I drank too much that night, and was in a bad mood ... We needn't air our dirty laundry in front of Rand" as he thought to himself: I hit that bitch once and only with an open hand. She deserved it. She needs to get over this.

"I don't see why not. You don't keep secrets from him. But never mind... What time do we leave here to get to the park?"

"Honey, again, I'm sorry. It won't happen again. We should leave here about 11:45. Leaving then will get us to the park about fifteen minutes late. I trust you'll dress in something appropriate for..."

"Don't tell me how to dress. I won't look like one of your whores. I'll look like a mousy hausfrau who worships her larger-than-life husband. My speech on your behalf that wow the crowd."

Rand hired off-duty motorcycle patrolmen to lead the motorcade with lights and sirens, thus, to onlookers along the route, it looked like an official procession. Buster Walker was on the stage keeping the crowd entertained with stories of his exploits as an LSU running back in the mid-1930s when Harry and his entourage arrived. Harry waded through the crowd, shaking hands and speaking to as many people as he could. The Dixieland band on the stage played several jazzy tunes, including Tiger Rag and Bogalusa Strut. Sweetie walked around the edge of the crowd, and climbed onto the stage where she greeted Buster like an old family friend. The mic picked up her asking whether his oldest son still planned to play football for the Tigers. Harry took the steps to the podium two at a time, almost leaping onto the stage, then turned and waved with both hands to the crowd. Although this was their first meeting, he and Buster embraced like old friends. Buster quieted the crowd and said, "We're going to make y'all listen to a few speeches before we serve the goodies, so let me introduce this great lady and we'll get to the food much quicker."

Buster introduced Sweetie to the assembled throng, telling how they met in Bogalusa where she was a cheerleader and he was an all-state fullback for Istrouma High School. He spent much time reciting her work on the home front during the war, and ended his introduction shouting, "It's my pleasure to present the wife of the next congressman from this district, Mrs. Mildred, but please everybody, just call her Sweetie... Mrs. Harry Glass."

Sweetie walked to the podium, hugged Buster, and looked over the enthusiastic crowd, which Rand estimated to be well over a thousand. She spotted three ladies she met the night before at shift change at the Standard Oil Refinery. Making eye contact, she pointed to them and waved. She delivered her address with a soft, yet authoritative voice. Her extemporaneous speech lasted about twelve minutes; her theme was although Congressman Pitts served the state well during his term in office, it was now time for new blood with boundless energy to take over and lead America into the future. She used humor in several places, which drew laughter from the audience. She wrapped up her talk by telling the crowd to welcome the next congressman for Louisiana's Sixth Congressional District. As she stepped back away from the dais, the jazz band played Anchors Aweigh as Harry came forward. Harry and Sweetie embraced and kissed, and many of the people near the stage could hear him say, "I love you, thanks, honey" and her reply "I love you too. Now go get 'em."

Harry stepped up to the dais, smiling at the large crowd, who continued to applaud Sweetie. He turned and looked at Sweetie, who was smiling at him. She blew him a kiss and he returned the same. He looked back at the audience and said, "Wow, you know, that little lady might make a good congresswoman. Keep her in mind when I retire."

He memorized the speech Rand's staff prepared for him, but his masterful delivery made everyone think he was speaking off the cuff. His theme was much like Sweetie's, but he added a few items. He mentioned how his best friend returned from the war suffering battle fatigue, and how the VA hospitals come up with no answers to lessen the suffering of his friend, or of the many other vets who similarly suffered. He also talked about another lifelong friend who spent almost the entire war in a Japanese POW camp, and how he wanted to provide former prisoners of war a bonus as compensation and recognition for the portions of their lives lost in those "hellholes." He ended his speech by apologizing for being late to the gathering, but suggested everyone line up for the free hot dogs, drinks and treats. He got an enthusiastic round of applause. Sweetie came to his side, kissed him, and then they held each other's hands high to the delight of those not already breaking for the lines at the serving tents.

Harry and Sweetie each worked the crowd, shaking hands and meeting everyone they could. Buster was doing his part by amusing the crowd as he shepherded the lines to the serving tents. There were several reporters at the rally from the smaller newspapers in the district, but there was no coverage of this kick-off rally by any of the Baton Rouge or New Orleans papers. The experienced political reporter covering the rally for the Bogalusa Enterprise wrote a front-page story saying Harry Glass was the freshest face to appear in Louisiana politics since Huey Long burst onto the scene thirty years before.

Rand was pleased with how this initial effort turned out. He scheduled four more rallies like this one over the next week at various venues across the district, and many more would follow. The venue for the rally in two days was Bogalusa, the second-largest city in the district, which was expected to be solidly behind Harry. Sweetie would meet several shift changes at the paper mill, the box plant, the Bogalusa hospital, and the phone company before the rally. He saw how Buster provided a boost to the campaign effort, so he intended to make more use of him in coming months. He also decided he should line up hometown heroes at each location where they held a rally, and made a notation to that effect in his notebook.

He was confident the large city daily newspapers which circulated in the Sixth District would cover the campaign soon.

Bogalusa, Louisiana

August 13, 1947

Since before sunrise Sweetie had been busy. She met and greeted telephone operators in Covington when they started their day shift at seven a.m. Shortly afterwards, she attended a prayer breakfast with a church group in Mandeville. She spoke to a men's club luncheon in Slidell. Later drove to Ponchatoula, and mingled at a late afternoon garden club meeting. Finally ended the day's activities attending a town council meeting in Amite, touting Harry's candidacy to the local politicians.

It was busy, but not an atypical day since Harry announced his candidacy in April. She told herself she was thankful for the activity; it kept her mind off other unpleasant thoughts. Harry was equally busy, shaking hands and making promises at men's club meetings, union halls, and VFW and American Legion posts, and to any other group he could find in the Florida Parishes.

Downtown was deserted as she drove through about 11:30 p.m. She was tired and thought for a moment about skipping her bath tonight, but knew she must awaken fresh early the next morning and do more of the same as she had done today.

She thought about Bobby. She had received no correspondence from him in over a month; she missed his letters, and missed him. In his last letter Bobby said he and Roddy planned a trip to Australia to visit several old SAAF chums. She chuckled to herself, thinking Bobby would finally get to see a kangaroo, another sight he often talked about in high school.

She turned into the driveway at the Glass house, and noticed a light on in Bobby's apartment. Only she and Melba kept keys to the flat. She considered waking Pops up to investigate, but decided she would see what was happening. She reached under the driver's side of the front seat, and retrieved the Walther P38 semi-automatic pistol Pops insisted she carry. Pops took her to a remote area along the Pearl River and taught her to use this weapon, so she was confident she could handle anything she might encounter in the apartment without disturbing Pops.

She climbed softly up the stairs, and hesitated on the top landing, observing the door was ajar by about an inch. Pushing the door open, she stepped inside, holding the weapon in front of her with both hands as Pops taught her. Static from the radio speaker was the only sound she heard from inside the apartment; the station the intruder listened to must have already signed off. She saw a figure lying on the single bed and in a loud voice demanded, "Who's there?"

The prone figure sat up and said, "Sweetie?"

"Bobby?"

"Hey, doll; I wanted to surprise you, but I fell asleep." Laughing, he added, "I hope you don't intend to use that weapon on me."

She laid the pistol on the table and walked over to Bobby. She looked at him as if seeing an apparition. He was standing up, dressed only in Levi's. He could use a shave and his hair needed combing, but on the other hand, she thought she looked like a mess after her busy day.

They were standing only a foot apart, so she kissed him lightly on the lips and put both hands around his neck and asked, "When did you get home? How did you get here? Did you see Tommy and Lucille and Pops and Mama Ola?"

Bobby put both his arms around her waist and answered, "Slow down... I arrived in New Orleans this morning. I hitchhiked, getting here about three o'clock this afternoon. I visited with everyone. Tommy, Lucille, Val and I went to the schoolyard and threw the baseball around. Melba cooked pork chops and turnips with cornbread and buttermilk for supper. Best dinner I've had in a long time. I came up here to rest and wait for you, fell asleep, and here we are."

She pulled his face toward hers and kissed him passionately. He returned the kiss with enthusiasm. She pulled back and sternly said, "Bobby, I've missed you so much... you said you would be in South Africa for only two months; it's been almost a year."

"I know. I often thought about coming home, but there was so much to do, and being there cleared my mind of a lot of negative thoughts... then there was the trip to Australia. As soon as we got back to Durban, I made arrangements to come home. So, here I am."

"Oh, Bobby, kiss me!"

He complied, and tongues touched. Her tiredness vanished; she reached down and unbuttoned his Levi's. He was wearing nothing underneath. Undressing her was more difficult; she was wearing a dress, a brassiere, a petticoat, a girdle, panties, a garter belt and hose, but together they managed. They squeezed together onto the tiny bed; Bobby needed no help to get an erection. He kissed Sweetie's nipples and rubbed her clitoris. They were both ready after only a short period of foreplay. He reached to the bedside table and picked up a little glassine packet and said, "I made the preparations this time."

She took the small envelope from his hand, threw it across the room, and said, "We won't need that tonight."

Bobby said, "Honey, we better. We were lucky last time ..."

"No, we don't need a prophylactic. I can no longer have children."

The fervor left Bobby at once. He pulled away a little, looked at her, and asked, "What happened? You said nothing about that in your letters."

"I... underwent... female surgery last year; it left me barren. I don't want to talk about it, okay? I've missed you. Just do me, do me good and do me hard, fighter jockey and please, shut up."

Glass Congressional Campaign Headquarters

Heidelberg Hotel, Baton Rouge, Louisiana

February 2, 1948

"Okay, Harry, we have the discs of your commercial in hand, and our people will distribute copies to all radio stations in the district by this evening. We paid a lot of money for prime spots over the next three weeks. The stations will start airing these spots at six a.m. tomorrow to catch the early risers who like to listen to their favorite morning radio programs."

"Yeah, this should knock 'em out of their socks! They won't know how to respond."

"Hah! They'll take a week of meetings with their staff and high-price consultants to decide what to do, and then another week to implement whatever plan they come up with. By that time, there'll be only one more week till the voting... Whatever action they take, you can bet it'll cause them more damage than our commercial causes."

"Rand, you've done a helluva job; how can I ever express my appreciation?"

"Just make sure my last check doesn't bounce."

They shared a laugh. "No danger there, but Rand, buddy, paying for these radio spots and the final billboard ads has just about depleted our war chest! We're deep in debt, and I don't know what we'll do if we have a fucking runoff election."

"We HAVE to win a majority in the first primary. We don't have the assets to run a second primary... I've learned from my spies in Pitts' entourage that they commissioned a poll last week which shows him leading you by only four percentage points. When our ads hit the airwaves, followed by their rebuttal, in whatever form it takes, we'll flip those numbers, easily; I expect you to win by at least five points. That should get us over the fifty percent mark in the first primary."

"Let's listen to this ad one more time."

Rand queued up the disc on the turntable and turned up the volume. The first ten seconds on the disc were strains of Anchors Aweigh, which faded out as Harry began his speech.

Hello, friends and neighbors of the Sixth Congressional District. This is Harry Glass, your candidate for the U.S. House of Representatives. This long and arduous campaign is coming to an end. Whether I win or lose this election, I can only say it has been a rewarding experience traveling the length and breadth of this district, meeting so many wonderful and hardworking people. Many of you are GIs back from the front, and others fought the war on the home front. I salute every one of you good people. I have made many new friends in my travels which I will keep whether or not you good people choose me as your congressman.

From my conversations with hundreds or even thousands of you, I understand what most people in this district want: to live a normal life enjoying peace and prosperity. Elect me to Congress, and I can assure this will be attainable. However, I must warn you good people that there are a few ominous clouds on the horizon which, if not handled with dispatch, can wreck our dreams of peace and prosperity. I'm afraid my opponent, the Honorable Congressman Avery Pitts, does not acknowledge these threats. Now, Congressman Pitts served this district and the state and the nation honorably during the Depression and the war, but I regret to say he is not equipped to address the issues we will all have to face together in these turbulent post-war years.

There are two major issues Representative Pitts chooses to ignore; maybe he sees what is so plain to everyone else, but turns a blind eye. These issues are race-mixing and the threat of international Communism. To a great extent, these two problems are interrelated.

In the last war, the U.S. put together the greatest military force in history to defeat fascism and Imperial Japanese expansion. Many Negros fought and many died in this war. My best friend, who served aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise, tells me the Negro firefighters aboard the ship risked their lives, and many sacrificed their lives to keep the vessel afloat after a kamikaze attack almost sank her.

The morale among the Negros serving in the Navy and in other units across the globe was high. Now, it saddens me to say this, but our President, Mr. Truman, of my own party, wants to mix the White and Colored races within the armed forces, which will destroy morale, cohesiveness, and even military capability. He wants Negros and Whites to serve in the same units, eat together, sleep in the same barracks, and even use the same toilet facilities. He has formed a so-called bipartisan commission to facilitate this race mixing. I should not have to tell you who is a member of this commission, but I guess I must, since he tries very hard to hide his participation with that group – it is our own representative, the Right Honorable Avery Pitts. Mixing the races in the armed forces will destroy the most effective fighting force in the history of mankind and leave the country vulnerable to another Pearl Harbor.

Some people, including the Right Honorable Avery Pitts, say, "Harry, we don't need an effective fighting force anymore. We won the war, and we'll have peace forever; but if minor trouble breaks out somewhere around the world, the United Nations can resolve the disagreements before conflict arises. These people will also mention we are the only nation in the world with the atomic bomb. Nobody in their right minds would dare attack us, they say. The people who say that, including the Right Honorable Avery Pitts, are living in a fantasy land, not the real world. The specter of international Communism will shatter all our hopes of peace and prosperity, unless we, as Americans, maintain a military capable of answering such threat. It is no secret the Communists will have a bomb of their own almost any day now. The FBI, led by the Honorable J. Edgar Hoover, uncovered spy rings right here in America who passed our military secrets to the Godless Communists. The Right Honorable Avery Pitts often praised the Soviet Union, and even expressed admiration for the brutal dictator, Joseph Stalin. Trust me when I tell you, a war against the Soviet Union will make World War II look like a walk in the park.

The combination of failing to recognize the imminent threat of Communist aggression and mixing the races within the armed forces of this great nation can only lead to tragedy.

Please choose me as your representative in Washington. There must be new ideas, new thinking, and new solutions as we move towards the second half of the twentieth century.

Thank you all very much.

The final ten seconds of the disc were strains of The Star-Spangled Banner, which faded out as the disc came to an end.

Early in World War II, when the Nazis invaded the Soviet Union, Congressman Pitts expressed sympathy for the heroic people of the Soviet Union fighting Nazi aggression, and said Stalin was rallying the population to resist the invasion. These were the statements Harry was now using against him.

"We have a winner here, Harry," Rand Albright gushed. "These topics will be major issues over the next twenty or more years. We're in the vanguard with exploiting them... Did Sweetie express an opinion about the commercial?"

"She hasn't heard it, and I don't give a shit about her opinion on anything. She's still bitching about the language I use when speaking to men's groups. I pull no punches when I speak at union halls or before American Legion posts; I call a spade a spade."

"Harry, she's been a big help in this campaign. Your friend, Bobby, helps maintain her frantic pace. He–"

Harry interrupted, "Yeah, he's her chauffeur and bodyguard, but he hasn't done shit for the campaign. I wanted him to make speeches at two American Legion Posts a week ago, but he claims he isn't good at public speaking. Well, to hell with both of them; you and I are the ones making things happen."
Chapter 8

On the highway between Bogalusa and Baton Rouge, Louisiana

February 17, 1948

"Sweetie, this is a hell of a time to be on the highway. It's foggy and misting rain; the windshield wipers aren't helping much, and it's hard to see the road. What time is it? I can't even see my watch."

"Mine has the radium hands; it looks like it's about 4:25 a.m. You want some more coffee?"

"Sure, pour another cup from the thermos."

"How do you drink this stuff black?"

"I got used to drinking it that way in North Africa; we had no sugar or honey, and certainly no milk or cream. The Turkish coffee Ali served us was much stronger and more bitter than this... Let's go over today's plans again. We arrive in about two hours at the Heidelberg Hotel, where Rand has us in separate but adjoining rooms. We stay in Baton Rouge until Election Day, when we drive back to Bogalusa to vote. At eight o'clock this morning, you will speak at a prayer breakfast."

"Yes, there may be four hundred or more people in attendance at the big First Baptist Church downtown. Congressman Pitts will be there."

"Shouldn't Harry be there to go face-to-face with the congressman?"

"No; Rand has no confidence in Harry's ability to think on his feet. He's certain the congressman would eat Harry alive; you know how Harry tends to blurt out things without thinking... We'll say an unavoidable conflict arose, and Harry sends his regrets. Bobby, please reconsider and come in with me; we may be in there for more than two hours, and I hate for you to wait for me the whole time in the car."

"Sweetie, you know me and churches don't get along too well. Where do we go after the prayer breakfast?"

"At noon we'll attend the Gold Star Mothers luncheon at a large restaurant on Government Street. We expect maybe a hundred or more to be present. Please, you must go inside with me; some mothers there lost sons in the Pacific, and they might get some comfort talking with you."

"Yeah, I don't mind talking with individuals; I just don't like speaking before an audience... Then what?"

"We don't have any meetings to address until this evening, but we'll do some house-to-house this afternoon in south Baton Rouge. At six we'll attend a combined high school and junior high school parent-teacher assembly at Istrouma High School in north Baton Rouge. I'll address the audience and take questions. The PTAs invited Congressman Pitts to attend, but he declined; he's sending a representative to speak on his behalf. The congressman isn't comfortable facing the blue-collar population in north Baton Rouge; his strength is in the more affluent south side of town and in the more rural parishes. The PTA meeting should be over by eleven; we go back to the hotel... you and I can visit in private for a time, and then rest for a few hours. We'll be up early tomorrow and do more of the same."

They drove in silence for several minutes while each drank their coffee and smoked a cigarette. Bobby broke the silence. "Sweetie, why don't you lean against the door and get some rest? I can handle things here okay."

"No, I better make sure you stay awake. Let's talk some more."

"Okay, I'll start the conversation. The election is a week from today. When it's all over, let's me and you take off somewhere for a week. We could go back to Pensacola and stay in the same tourist court for a few days. Some of the guys at the Naval Air Station there told me about a little fishing village about sixty miles east of Pensacola; we could go out into the gulf on an overnight charter and do some deep-sea fishing. We spend the night in a nice cabin by the boathouse the night before; the charter boat stays in the gulf for two days and one night. We sleep on the boat overnight. We return to shore in mid-afternoon of the second day. The boat captain and his wife clean and cook our catch. We stay in the cabin one more night and then leave. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"It sounds great, but Bobby, I've never seen you fish."

"Yes, I have fished. The last memory of my mother is the time she, Dad, and I went to someone's camp on Lake Pontchartrain and fished off the pier. I was five years old, and Mom was almost ready to have the baby. I remember sitting on the screened cabin porch in a swing next to her as the sun set. She was beautiful, with long, straight black hair and a lovely face. We sat in the swing, and she sang to Dad and me in her native Choctaw language. She let me feel her belly, telling me my new sister or brother was about ready to come out. I could feel the baby kick. It was one of the last happy times I can remember growing except the good times with you and our friends.

"She died soon afterwards. I've since learned it was a breech delivery, and the midwife couldn't cope with the situation. By the time a doctor arrived at our house, my mom bled out and my baby sister was dead."

He sighed. "Sorry, Sweetie; I don't want to get into depressing subjects. I shouldn't have even mentioned it."

She touched his arm lovingly. "No, Bobby, that's okay; it's the kind of thing I want to hear about you. You know, it's ironic or maybe coincidental, but one of the last memories I have of my mother is also a fishing trip. I was four years old when Dad and Mom took Billy and me down to Grand Isle, where an old merchant marine buddy of his owned a camp. Dad wasn't mean back then; he was a lot of fun to be around. Anyway, Billy and I would fight in the car, so Mom sat in the back seat to keep us separated. Like your mother, she sang to help pass the time; cars didn't have radios in those days. Her voice was so soothing; I would lean against her and almost fall asleep every time she sang. She was beautiful, with long wavy blonde hair, and always smelled so sweet. I helped her brush her hair sometimes. Mom left us not long after we returned home from the fishing trip."

Bobby said hesitantly, "Sweetie... you do know a lot of people in town don't believe your mother actually left you? People think your father killed her and that shoe drummer from the City and dumped their bodies in the Pearl River swamp for the gators to eat. The young man's family spent a lot of money looking for him and never found a trace of him, or your mother, in California or anywhere else."

She nodded to herself in the dark car. "I've heard that too, and you know, the gossipmongers may be right. Dad turned real mean after she was gone. Billy quit school after the eighth grade and hitchhiked to California to get away from home and to look for Mom. Dad moved his mother into the house, and she wasn't a pleasant person to be around. Dad burned every picture of Mom he could find. He never referred to her by name – he always called her 'that whore,' and my grandmother would only refer to her as 'that Jezebel'." Sweetie looked out the window into the dark. "You're right; the subject of our mothers is too depressing to talk about right now. Let's discuss something lighter."

"By all means... but you know, we can't take a fishing trip right after the election. We'd want to include Tommy and Lucille to let them have some fond memories doing something together, but they have to be in school that time of year. You know, I'm not going to wait in the parking lot while you're at the prayer breakfast. I'll drive to the LSU campus and pick up a catalog. I might want to go back to college next year or maybe the year after. I'll get one for you, too; maybe both of us can get more education. I need you nearby to help me study. If I enroll, I will try out for the college baseball team. I may be getting old, but I can show those youngsters a thing to two about how to play baseball."

Pine Tree Inn

Bogalusa, Louisiana

Election Day, February 24, 1948

"Rand, are you sure everything is set up?"

"Harry, everything's just right. The ticker-tape machine is there by the windows, and the Teletype machine is near the doors. The polls close in less than a half-hour, and the results should trickle in soon after. Are you nervous?"

"Not at all. Where are Sweetie and Bobby? Shouldn't they be here?"

"They're around somewhere; they were arranging chairs along the walls for some of your elderly supporters. We want most people standing in front of the stage where Sweetie and I will announce results as we receive them. Volunteers manning the chalkboard over there to post parish-by-parish results. You should leave now. Go to your room at the Redwood Hotel and stay out-of-sight until we call you to come over and announce victory."

"You got me something to drink and a couple nice, young 'hostesses' to keep me entertained until you call me?"

"Yes, Harry, I have everything in place."

"Good; get someone to drive me over there...?"

"Harry, can't you walk? It's only two blocks. Everyone is busy right now... we'll send a car for you when it's time for you to make your appearance here. It should be all over by one o'clock or certainly no later than 1:30 a.m., so do not get too drunk while you wait. The national wire services smell an upset in the making, and will be taking pictures."

"All right, I'll walk. Don't you worry, I can hold my liquor okay. You keep things rolling smoothly here."

Once the polls closed, the results tickled in precinct-by-precinct over the next two hours; the candidates were running even, and swapped leads several times. At about 10:45 p.m., the results started pouring in; Bobby ran back and forth between the ticker tape machine and the podium with each new update. The volunteers manning the chalkboard became confused, and erased most of their work and started afresh. Every time results were posted from a new precinct, Sweetie, at the podium in her bright red dress, led cheers, much as she did as a cheerleader at high school football games.

After midnight, the activity settled down, and the remaining precincts were slow to report their counts. At 12:45 a.m., the north Baton Rouge precincts reported; and as Rand predicted, Harry carried those precincts but not by as a wide a margin as anticipated.

The tally on the chalk board showed Harry's total to be slightly more than five hundred votes above fifty percent. The people remaining in the ballroom cheered until they were hoarse, and from up on the stage, Sweetie encouraged the demonstration.

Amidst the jubilation, Rand's private phone rang. As he picked up the phone, he noted it was now past one-thirty a.m., thinking the final precincts may be reporting now. He answered the call, smiling; but in an instant his expression turned to a deep frown. Sweetie was near enough to him to hear him say, "Well, goddammit, you find out what's going on, and keep those boxes in sight at all times!"

Concerned, Sweetie asked, "Rand, what happened?"

"Tell you in a minute. Get Bobby to drive to the Redwood and pick up Harry. You get to the dais and tell everybody to go home, because there won't be a final count till until late tomorrow morning. Let me call Harry and tell him to meet Bobby in front of the hotel."

Bobby got Harry back to the Pine Tree Inn in less than ten minutes, Bobby helped Harry navigate the steps into the hotel and guided him into the ballroom. The people remaining in the ballroom could see Harry was drunk. He said in a loud, querulous voice, "Where the hell is everybody? Shouldn't we be celebrating my victory?"

Rand snapped, "Harry, you're drunk, just like I told you not to be! Now sit down and listen. Last time I called you, when I called you a while ago, you were a little over five hundred votes above fifty percent. That's still how things stand – but there's been a glitch in the vote counting."

"What kind of fucking glitch?"

"The election judges at six precincts in south Baton Rouge sealed the ballot boxes after the polls closed, and State Troopers carried the boxes to the East Baton Rouge Parish courthouse, where four election officials from the Secretary of State's office were to count them. However, all four of the election officials came down sick at the same time from eating tainted egg salad sandwiches their office earlier sent over for their supper. Two of them were taken to Our Lady of the Lake Hospital. The State Troopers moved the boxes across the street to the parish jail, and locked them in an empty cell. They're standing guard over the boxes with machine guns until new election officials can count the votes tomorrow morning, starting at ten o'clock. I have Buster keeping an eye on everything.

"Harry, I hate to say this, but Congressman Pitts is likely to carry those south Baton Rouge precincts which will reduce your vote total to less than the fifty percent we need to avoid a runoff... you hear me? If you don't get at least fifty percent we may have to throw in the towel. Let's all go home and meet back here tomorrow at nine. I doubt many of your supporters will show up; most have to work on Wednesday."

Silently, Bobby drove Sweetie and Harry home. He let them out of the car by the front door and offered to help Sweetie walk Harry up to his bedroom. She declined, saying he could walk okay, and she could guide him to his room. Bobby went to his apartment, stripped off his clothes, and fell asleep quickly.

Meanwhile, Sweetie helped Harry to his room and was about to leave when Harry stepped behind her, locked the door, and commanded, "Take off your clothes."

"What is this, Harry? It's almost three a.m. I've been up since four this morning, and I'm tired. I'm going to bathe, get ready for bed and then look in on my children. I haven't seen them in a week. Then I'll go to bed myself."

She started to unlock the door when Harry grabbed her from behind and spun her around. "I said take off your clothes, bitch! You're my wife, and we're having sex tonight!"

"Go to bed, Harry..."

Before she finished the sentence, he slapped her with his right hand, landing a blow on her temple and eye socket. The slap stunned her for an instant, and before she could regain her composure, he slapped her with his left hand, catching her on the cheek.

She cried out and shouted, "Is this how you get your whores ready, Harry? Knock them around a little first?"

"Take... Off... Your... Clothes... if you don't want more of the same."

She complied. Standing naked facing him she asked, "Is this what you want, Harry?"

"You've really let yourself go, haven't you? Your body is more disgusting now than the last time I saw you naked! You have a big gut and your titties are sagging worse than ever. Look at those stretch marks! I can't get a hard-on looking at your repulsive body. Come over here and suck on this and get it hard."

"Harry, I'm not one of your whores; I am not putting that nasty thing in my mouth. You need to understand the difference between a whore and a wife... You've been fucking those whores all evening, and I'm not even going to let you put that thing in my vagina until you scrub it with soap and hot water."

He raised his hand as if to hit her again. In a stern voice she said, "You hit me again, and I will kick you in the balls so hard you won't be able to stand up for a week. I'm going to my room now. Good night."

Bobby was waiting outside the front door before nine a.m. when Harry emerged. He asked, "Where's Sweetie? Isn't she coming with us?"

"She isn't feeling well; she'll skip today. Her period started this morning, and it's got her down."

Bobby knew Harry was a lying and said, "She wouldn't want to miss today, not after all the hard work she's put into your campaign. I'm sure she wants to see it to the end... Should I speak with her?"

"No, I'll give you the details it in the car."

They drove the few blocks to the hotel, and as they pulled into the hotel parking lot, Harry spoke. "If you really want to know; she's worn out. I thought she would want to go straight to bed, but she came into my room and wanted to fuck. We did it twice, then she rolled over and sucked my dick... Did a woman ever suck your dick, Bobby? It's a fantastic experience."

Bobby glared at him. "Harry, you shouldn't talk that way about your wife; it's disrespectful. Sweetie's a real lady and deserves respect."

"She may be a lady in public, but she's wanton in the bedroom, and besides, what's it to you? ... We're here now. Let's see if there were any developments overnight."

Harry conferred with a gloomy Rand, consulted some numbers that arrived on the ticker tape overnight, and read some newspaper and wire service stories about his candidacy off the Teletype machine. The mood in the ballroom was pessimistic.

Bobby decided to check on Sweetie while Harry and Rand were busy, so he drove back to the house and knocked on the door. Melba answered and said, "Lordy, Mr. Bobby, you don't have to knock. You're family; you can just walk right in."

"Good morning, Miss Melba. I'm worried about Sweetie, and thought I should come by and look in on her."

"I'm glad you come back, Mr. Bobby. I'm worried about her, too. She didn't come down for breakfast, so Val took a cup of coffee to her room. She done locked the door and she told Val to go away and leave her alone."

"Do you have a key to her room?"

"Yes, Mr. Bobby, but I don't think it's a good idea ..."

"Trust me; we need to see what happened to her."

Bobby unlocked the door without knocking, while Melba remained nearby in the hall. The room was dark and smelt of cigarettes. Sweetie saw Bobby come through the doorway and said, "Bobby, please go away and leave me alone."

Bobby raised the shade and looked over at Sweetie. "Good grief, what happened?"

"I bumped into a partially-opened door in the dark..."

"Twice? I don't think so. Did Harry do this to you?"

"No!"

"Sweetie, you should leave him. This isn't good for you or the children."

"Bobby, I can't leave him. You don't understand!"

Bobby looked towards the door and called out, "Melba, are you still there?"

"Yes, Mr. Bobby, I'm right here."

"Could you bring Sweetie a cup of coffee and a couple of warm washcloths?"

He looked back at Sweetie and said, "Get cleaned up and dress. You can hide the handprint on your cheek with makeup, and wear sunglasses to hide the black eye. People will assume you're a celebrity with the shades. Let's get back to the ballroom for the final count. You've earned your place there."

Bobby thought, I won't say anything to Sweetie, but Harry will NOT get away with what he did to her.

Associated Press news bulletin sent via Teletype to all outlet subscribers nationwide:

BATON ROUGE LOUISIANA FEBRUARY 25 1948

POWERFUL DEMOCRATIC REPRESENTATIVE UNSEATED BY POLITICAL NEWCOMER IN LOUISIANA PRIMARY

CONGRESSMAN AVERY PITTS (D SIXTH DISTRICT LOUISIANA) WAS UPSET IN YESTERDAY'S DEMOCRATIC PRIMARY BY THE RELATIVELY UNKNOWN BUT RESPECTED LOUISIANA STATE SENATOR HAROLD (HARRY) GLASS. COMPLETE BUT UNOFFICIAL RETURNS SHOW STATE SENATOR GLASS RECEIVED 50.1 PERCENT OF THE VOTES WHILE CONGRESSMAN PITTS RECEIVED 46.2 PERCENT. TWO OTHER CANDIDATES SPLIT THE REMAINING VOTE.

GLASS WINS THE PRIMARY WITH NO NEED FOR A RUNOFF ELECTION. CONGRESSMAN PITTS SERVED FOR THIRTEEN TERMS IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES BEFORE GOING DOWN TO DEFEAT AT THE HANDS OF THE YOUNG NAVAL WAR VETERAN. PITTS WAS CHAIRMAN OF THE POWERFUL HOUSE WAYS AND MEANS COMMITTEE AND CHAIRMAN OF THE HOUSE APPROPRIATIONS COMMITTEE. A WIN IN THE DEMOCRATIC PRIMARY IN LOUISIANA IS TANTAMOUNT TO ELECTION SINCE IT IS UNLIKELY THE REPUBLICANS WILL FIELD A VIABLE CANDIDATE TO CHALLENGE THE DEMOCRAT PARY NOMINEE, STATE SENATOR GLASS.

National Guard Armory

Washington, D.C.

January 20, 1949

A Marine gunnery sergeant in his winter formal dress uniform assisted Sweetie from the limousine. She was attired in a beige, full-length gown with matching opera gloves. She and Ola spent several days in various boutiques in New Orleans before finding the right look for this occasion. An exclusive salon for which Gary Briggs' date for the ball made her an appointment two months in advance styled her hair earlier in the afternoon. Sweetie and her Marine escort paused for a second or two while Harry emerged. The gunny escorted Sweetie through the door while Harry, in a formal Navy diner dress uniform sporting his Presidential Unit Citation and his Purple Heart, walked two steps behind. When they reached the receiving line, the gunnery sergeant expressed his pleasure at meeting such a sophisticated lady, shook hands with Harry, saluted him, and returned to his post outside.

Sweetie and Harry shook hands with the various dignitaries in the receiving line until they reached the First Lady and the President. Bess Truman complimented Sweetie on her gown and said hello to Harry. The aide next to the President consulted information on his clipboard and whispered into the President's ear. The aide introduced the couple to the Commander-in-Chief. Sweetie nodded to the President and said, "Good evening, Mr. President." Mr. Truman shook her hand, nodded, and said good evening in return. Sweetie walked a few feet away from the receiving line and awaited Harry. The President congratulated Harry on his election to Congress, saying it was good to get new blood in that august body.

In fact, however, the president was not pleased one of his staunchest allies in the House of Representatives had been unseated; but this was politics, and he could do nothing else but move forward. Harry reminded the president they met two years earlier at the ceremony awarding the Presidential Unit Citation to the crew of the Johnston. Truman remembered the ceremony, but did not recall Harry. Harry pointed out to Mr. Truman they carried the same nickname. The president suggested he should bear the name with honor. Harry wanted to say more, but an aide eased him away from the President.

Harry and Sweetie shared a table with Gary and his date, Wanda Irwin, an attractive, youthful-looking forty-year-old who was the only female partner at one of the larger law firms in the District of Columbia. The two couples sat for a few minutes chatting, with Sweetie thanking Wanda for the hairdresser's appointment. After a short time, Harry and Gary excused themselves to go stand by the bar. As they were at the bar, Gary looked towards the table and waved to the women. They both waved back. Gary then said, "Harry, your wife is more gorgeous now than the last time I saw her. With her looks and figure, she could be a pin-up girl..."

"I don't think so. Underneath that dress, girdle, support brassiere and whatever else she has on under there, she's hideous. She's also more frigid than ever. One of the happiest nights of my life, my victory on election night... I wanted to celebrate with sex; she would have no part of it. She really deflated my ego."

"Sorry to hear, but ol' boy, she still does not look like a frigid woman... never mind, I have you lined up with something you'll enjoy: a beautiful eighteen-year-old virgin from my hometown who would love to have a real Congressman deflower her."

"Who is she?"

"The daughter of an Undersecretary of Agriculture from Iowa. I've been screwing her mom off and on for a year. The daughter, Kelly Shields, has a hot body; I've seen her in a sexy bathing suit at the country club swimming pool back home. She's too young for my tastes, but she might just be what you're looking for... Who just sat at our table wearing a rented tux and bringing two children?"

"That's my friend Bobby Howe; I'm sure I told you about him. And those are my children, Tommy and Lucille."

"Yeah, I remember your children from the unit citation ceremony. You mentioned your friend, Bobby, a few times; you said he was a Navy pilot in the war. I believe you also told me he's Indian."

"Half-breed; his mother was Choctaw."

"It looks like your son might be part Indian. Straight black hair, dark complexion, and high cheekbones. Do you have Indian blood, Harry?"

"What are saying, Gary?"

"Nothing, ol' pal... nothing at all. Sweetie must have some Indian ancestry."

Harry and Gary stayed near the bar, hobnobbing with as many VIPs as they could. For most of the evening, the orchestra played slow tunes for the mostly elderly crowd. Bobby and Sweetie danced a few times; Bobby danced one number with Lucille, who at eight years old stood only as high as his chest, but she seemed to enjoy the attention. Sweetie forced Tommy to dance a number with her. At last, the orchestra played a jazzy number, so Sweetie and Bobby did their jitterbug. Sweetie, in her long gown and high heels, danced like they were back in Pensacola. Even President Truman glanced their way and smiled. Bobby danced one slow number with Wanda, so she wouldn't feel left out; after he sat Wanda back at the table, he walked over to the bar to talk with Harry and Gary.

"Hi, you must be Bobby Howe. Harry has often spoken of you. I'm Gary Briggs."

"Nice to meet you, Congressman. Congratulations on your election. Can you and Harry still be friends even though you're in different parties?"

Gary laughed and said, "No problem there. Harry and I go back a long way."

"Yeah, I believe you were in the Navy together during the war, weren't you? Harry, can we walk outside for a few minutes and smoke a cigarette? I need to discuss something with you."

"We can smoke in here. What do you want to talk about?"

Gary interrupted and said, "You two have your conversation. I better go have a dance or two with Wanda; otherwise she might keep her knees together tonight."

Harry and Bobby went out a side door; it did not lead outside, but rather into a small equipment storage room. Harry took a Viceroy from his pack when Bobby said, "Before you light up Congressman, there's something I have to do."

Bobby slapped him in the face with his right hand, very hard.

"What the hell? What was that for?" Harry gasped as he clutched his cheek.

"It's to show I love you, Congressman. We've been friends longer than I can remember, and I want to show how much I love you." Bobby slapped him even harder with his left hand.

Harry rubbed his cheeks and said, "Okay Bobby, enough is enough. Just quit, and let's go back to the ball... and I'll forget all about this."

"Congressman, I don't want you to forget." Bobby slapped him hard again with his right hand.

"All right Bobby; I have no idea what this is all about, but I'm getting pissed." Harry clenched his fist and took a fighting position, eyes blazing.

"Congressman, let's not escalate this. You know I can easily whip you in a fist-fight. You would have to go back into the ballroom with a bloody face, a busted lip, and probably a black eye and with a dirty uniform from hitting the deck. Can you imagine the headlines in the tabloids? 'Freshman Congressman in Brawl at Presidential Inaugural Ball.' Now just stand there while we finish this conversation, and when I get tired of hitting you, this will stop... and don't try to walk away from me."

Bobby slapped him again, hard enough to sting his hand. "I thought this was how you showed love. Isn't this how you show love to Sweetie?" He slapped him again. "I hope you don't show love to Tommy and Lucille like this." He slapped him again.

"I have never laid a hand on my children... or on Sweetie!"

"Congressman, we've been through too much together for you to think I can't tell when you're lying." Bobby slapped him once more. "Let me refresh your memory. Election night in Bogalusa; Sweetie didn't want sex, so you batted her around a little. You're an ungrateful bastard, you know that? You owe your seat in Congress to that lady, and you show your gratitude by beating on her."

"Bullshit! She had nothing to do with my winning that seat! It was all through my own efforts!"

Bobby hit him again. "Congressman, wake up from this dream you're having. I was with Sweetie and Buster the final three weeks of your campaign. They worked south Baton Rouge eighteen hours a day, or more, seven days a week. Both you and Rand thought when those last six boxes were counted you would no longer have your majority. But weren't both of you surprised when you carried those precincts! That was due almost entirely to Sweetie's efforts."

Bobby hit him again and said, "I'm tiring of this, and my hand is hurting, so why don't we go back into the ball now? But just one thought before we go back in: Never lay another hand on Sweetie–or your children, Congressman. Next time, I won't use my open hand on you."

"This isn't over, Bobby," Harry snarled.

"Yes it is, Congressman. It's over."

Gary was walking towards them as they re-entered the ballroom. Gary exclaimed, "You two were out there a long time. What were you talking about? I need to introduce Harry to the Undersecretary of Agriculture and his family... Harry; your face is red, what happened?"

Bobby answered, "We got to reminiscing about old times and lost track of how long we were out there; sorry for keeping him from the party for so long. Harry, Gary's right, your face is red; you might be developing an allergy."

Bogalusa, Louisiana

June 17, 1950

It was a hot morning for late spring. Bobby pulled his Indian under the shade of the large oak tree next to the garage in the Glass's yard to do a little work on it. Sweetie saw him, and fixed two glasses of mint tea in bright blue aluminum glasses and carried them out to him.

"Hi, Sweetie, you look cool and relaxed in this heat."

Sweetie was wearing cuffed red shorts, a white sleeveless blouse with the collar turned up, and red sandals. She sat down on a crate near the motorcycle and handed Bobby a glass of tea, lit a cigarette, and said, "Now I see a real shade tree mechanic at work. What are you doing?"

"Replacing the throttle cable. The cycle's in good shape now; I have just a few minor things to work on, and then it'll be like new."

"How's the job at the airport? You've been working there for almost six months now and have you gotten any flying jobs since you got your commercial license?"

"A few jobs... transporting an occasional businessman to and from the New Orleans airport for Smoke Yates' new air taxi service. I make decent money working on aircraft engines... when work is available... There aren't very many planes at the airport these days, so I don't get to work many hours a week... I haven't seen you in over two weeks. Are you busy running Harry's Bogalusa office? And how is Buster doing at the Baton Rouge office?"

"Both offices stay busy. Now that his constituents know about the offices, they call or show up night and day with their problems, hoping Harry can help. Some of the things they complain about are ridiculous; one lady called a few days ago about a lost cat, but some people have real problems Harry can help them with. He sends letters to everybody who calls, no matter how ridiculous their request, and then he'll call those with major issues and have a personal conversation with them."

"Do you have any contact with Harry?"

"We've spoken by phone twice over the past few months, and the conversations concerned nothing but business... but to change the subject, Ciel called earlier this morning. Paul will finish his internship at Baptist Hospital in August, and then they'll move back here."

"Great news, Sweetie! I haven't seen much of them in a long time. Paul has had to keep his nose in the books and Ciel stayed busy with four girls to raise."

"Bobby, you know what we haven't done in a long time?... Let's go dancing. The last time we danced was at the inauguration, more than a year ago. Ciel tells me there's a nice dance hall near the French Quarter with a band which plays the music we like... Paul might not get off, but she could go with us."

"Great! I'd like to go dancing again. Will we stay with them, or should we get a room?"

She laughed and said, "We'll get a room. Ciel considers our relationship sinful, and if we stayed at her house, she'd make us sleep in separate bedrooms. I have no doubt she would sit in a chair in the hall outside our doors all night with a shotgun to keep us apart."

"Getting a hotel room sounds swell; when do you want to do this?"

"I've already reserved us a room at the Roosevelt Hotel for next Wednesday and Thursday. We had a lot of fun at the Roosevelt last time we were there."

Bobby laughed and said, "Yes, it was a lot of fun; but Sweetie, please, no singing this time!"

"Okay, I promise... and just to change the subject to something more serious; Bobby, have you been keeping up with what's happening in Asia? Do you think there will be another war?"

"I read the Picayune and the week-old issues of Time you send to my apartment. From what I read; it looks bad in that part of the world. The Soviets have the bomb now; the Communists have taken over China, and the North Koreans look like they may invade the south."

"If there's another war, will the Navy call you up?"

"There's a good possibility of that happening."

"Bobby, please don't volunteer. I have a bad feeling about this whole situation."

"Hey, Sweetie, this boy is no fool; he won't volunteer for anything... but they may not give him a choice."

Front page headline of New Orleans Times-Picayune

June 26, 1950

NORTH KOREAN ARMY CROSSES 38TH PARALLEL

Front page headlines of New Orleans Times-Picayune

June 28, 1950

U.N. PASSES RESOLUTION TO DEFEND SOUTH KOREA

TRUMAN ORDERS MOBILIZATION OF MILITARY
Chapter 9

Bogalusa, Louisiana

July 20, 1950

It was almost nine a.m. when Sweetie left the house to pick up a few items at the A&P. As she unlocked the car door, the Western Union delivery boy rode up on his bicycle. She signed for the telegram addressed to "Lt. Robert Howe, U.S. Naval Reserve" at the Glass's address. Bobby's Indian was parked in the second stall in the garage, so, knowing he was home, she walked up the steps to his apartment to give him what was almost certain to be bad news. Sweetie let herself in without knocking and called out, "Are you decent?"

"No, I'm not decent, but I have on clothes." He was wearing shorts with no shirt, painting the ceiling of his small bathroom.

"Are you working today?"

"Yeah, I have a job this afternoon to do some work on the carburetor of an old Piper J-2 Smoke bought a couple of weeks ago. What brings you into my lair so early this morning?"

"You received a telegram... I think it's from the Navy."

He froze, before saying slowly, "Well, we both know what it probably says."

Sweetie and Bobby took Tommy and Lucille to see Annie Get Your Gun the night before–along with Melba, who sat in the balcony for the Colored patrons at the State Theater. The MovieTone news screened before the feature, and according to the war correspondent reporting, things looked dire in Korea. He reported the North Korean army was rolling south, blasting by any resistance put up by the South Koreans or the few U.S. troops deployed to the peninsula. He reported U.S. Air Force F-47s and F-51s [previously designed as P-47s and P-51s] out of bases in Japan and Navy Corsairs and Hellcats from the U.S.S. Valley Forge, the only carrier in the area, were flying missions attempting to stem the North Korean advance. Despite these air strikes, some military experts predicted the North Koreans would wipe out all resistance in the south within two months. Unsaid by the news correspondence was the ever-present danger of a war with China and the Soviet Union. Newspapers reported the armed services were calling up veterans of World War II to beef up the strength of the military and navy.

With shaking hands, Sweetie handed the envelope to Bobby, who remained as calm as always. He tore open the envelope with his index finger and read the message twice. "I have to report to Alvin Callender Field at Belle Chasse within seven days for a physical. I must stay in barracks at the base after the physical for possible immediate recall into the Navy."

Bobby needed only five days to get his affairs in order. He sold his beloved motorcycle, telling Sweetie he would buy an English MG sports car when he returned from the war. On Sunday, Sweetie drove him to New Orleans. As they would often do, they checked into the Roosevelt where Paul and Vonciel met them for a late lunch. The two couples walked to the Saenger Theater to see Winchester 73 starring Jimmy Stewart. The MovieTone newsreel before the main feature carried more bleak news about the war.

After the movie, Bobby bade his goodbyes to Paul and Vonciel, and he and Sweetie walked to the hotel. Sweetie did not sing on this walk; both were very somber. However, their lovemaking was spirited, and they both laughed often during their session. Sweetie cried silently to herself for a long time before passing off to sleep.

The next morning, they ordered room service breakfast and talked and joked while eating, but neither said much as Sweetie drove him to the naval air station at Belle Chasse.

After showing the gate sentry the telegram, they were allowed through the gate. Sweetie followed signs to the Quonset hut serving as the headquarters where the instructions in the telegram said to report. Sweetie pulled the car into the parking slot about two hours before Bobby's deadline to report and killed the engine.

They sat in silence for a time, before Bobby slid over next to Sweetie and put his arm around her. She turned towards him and they kissed. "Hon, I don't want you to leave..." she moaned.

"I know, sweet, but I have to go. It may be a trite expression, but... duty calls."

They kissed once more; then he got out of the car and walked up to the entrance, carrying only a small fabric valise filled with toilet articles and a couple of changes of underwear and socks. He turned and waved to her before he entered the building; she waved back, but was not sure he could see her because of the sun's glare on the car's windshield.

Pensacola Naval Air Station

August 20, 1950

Hi Sweetie,

I'm sorry I haven't written earlier, but things have been hectic since you dropped me off in Belle Chasse. After staying in the barracks for two days, the medic reported I passed my physical. Several of us who passed were put on a bus and transported to Pensacola. Here we are being treated like raw recruits at boot camp. We are up before dawn, and work out with lots of calisthenics and running. Several of the World War II pilots need to be slimmed down; the rest of us have to suffer along with them. The afternoons aren't bad at all.

I'm in a group selected to fly the new Grumman F9F Panther jet. They will not let me take control of that bird yet. I fly a two-seat jet trainer with an instructor until I get proficient in handling a jet aircraft. I'll be sent elsewhere (who knows where) to get checked out in the Panther. Once I get proficient in the Panther, I'll learn carrier take-offs and landings in that bird. Only then will I get my permanent carrier assignment. That may be several weeks away.

The CO gave us an eight-hour liberty from the station earlier today, so I commandeered a jeep and several of us headed to the beach. I drove on a route past the tourist court where we stayed when you and Tommy met me here. I'm sad to say the cabins are no longer there; all probably wiped out in a hurricane. We also went past the dance hall where we jitterbugged the night away. It's still there, but abandoned and dilapidated. To paraphrase Bogie, 'we'll always have Pensacola.'

I have to close now; it will soon be lights out, and then up before dawn and do everything all over again tomorrow.

Love,

Bobby

PS: Don't write me at this address. I'll get my permanent address at my next posting. Give my love to Tommy and Lucille.

Bogalusa, Louisiana

August 29, 1951

Sweetie brought home a few files to work on; she preferred to do this work in her study rather than at Harry's Constituent Liaison Office on Columbia Road. Her assistant Emily could handle things there Emily enjoyed meeting the constituents who dropped in to seek Harry's help with their problems. She would offer them a cup of coffee or a Coke, listen to their stories, and promise to inform Congressman Glass of their situation. Most times, she would write a letter herself and rubber-stamp the congressman's signature at the bottom, which would satisfy the constituent. Some situations required Sweetie's attention. In most of those cases, Sweetie could resolve the matter to the constituent's satisfaction without bringing the matter to Harry's attention. A few times, circumstances dictated she bring the problem to him. She had not seen Harry in person in over eight months. Most matters could be handled by mail, but infrequently she spoke to him by long-distance telephone.

She was seated at her desk reading a file Emily sent over for her attention. After resisting for over a year, she succumbed to wearing reading glasses when she worked. She heard a noise in the hall, turned, and looked over the top of her glasses. "Harry! What are you doing here? We weren't expecting you until tomorrow; and who are your two friends?"

"We recessed early for Labor Day, and I caught a military flight... these are just a couple of friends of mine."

"It's good you're here. Emily and I have everything lined up for the Labor Day parade. The Ford factory sent Pops a brand new cream-colored convertible last week which you can borrow to ride up front in the morning parade. Buster arranged for you to be guest of honor at a big union barbeque in north Baton Rouge the same evening..."

"Where is everybody?"

"I'm here alone. Tommy's at the Y for a baseball tournament which may last until it gets too dark to play. Lucille is at Ciel and Paul's, playing with Paula all afternoon. Melba is off today, and Val is shopping. Can I get you something to eat? We have ham and cheese left over from our lunch..."

"Sweetie, we need to talk."

"Sure, Harry. What about?"

"Not here; let's go up to my room."

"No Harry; we can talk here," she said, her voice betraying some apprehension. "Nobody will disturb us."

"Okay, have it your way." He motioned the two men to leave the room. They stood close outside the open door. "Now stand up."

"No, Harry. What is this about?" She remained seated.

Harry grabbed both her wrists and pulled her out of the chair. She almost fell to the floor, but Harry held her up. He continued to hold her wrists tightly and said, "Stand up when I say stand up!"

"Harry, learn some new way to abuse me. This is getting old..."

"I want to know the truth about your affair with Bobby; my wife and my best friend! How could you betray me like that?"

"Harry; let go of my wrists; you're hurting me!"

Harry let go of one wrist and slapped her hard, knocking her glasses to the floor, "I want to know if Bobby is Tommy's father! You weren't a virgin when we fucked by the creek. Bobby already knocked you up, so you wanted to marry the rich guy, right?"

"Don't you dare hit me again," she shouted, "or you'll be sorry!"

"I'm not afraid; your flyboy isn't here, and even if he was here, my friends could handle him."

"You brought bodyguards to protect you from Bobby even though he is seven thousand miles away!"

Harry slapped her hard on the other side of her face. She tried twice to kick him in the crotch, but he easily dodged her efforts.

"You and lover boy tried to humiliate me at the Inaugural Ball in front of the President of the United States. You two didn't think you could get away with that little stunt, did you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

Harry punched her hard in the stomach with his clenched fist. She doubled over onto the floor, and he picked her up and threw her into the chair.

"Harry, I can't breathe! Please stop!"

He slapped her again. He lifted her out of the chair and held her up. "I can't stand to look at you. You stay out of my sight from now on." He punched her in the face, catching her in the head near the left eye. He turned and walked out as she fell, and didn't see her strike her forehead on the edge of her desk. His two "friends" followed him to the car.

Sweetie laid on the floor, bleeding and dazed.

She wasn't sure how long she laid there before she heard a voice: "Mom! Mom, what happened?"

She was barely able to think, but she managed to gasp, "I tripped... hit my head on the edge of the desk."

"I saw Harry and two men driving off as I was getting here on my bike! Did Harry do this to you?"

"No, Beau," she told her son as she sat up, head spinning. "I tripped, just like I said."

"Can you sit in the chair, Mom? You're bleeding from the forehead, and I learned in Boy Scouts to elevate the wound to slow the bleeding."

She struggled into the chair and told Tommy, "You better get a couple of wet washcloths and towels, and let's see if we can clean me off and then clean up this mess. Why are you home early?"

"We lost the first game and got eliminated..."

Tommy was out the door before he finished the sentence and ran up the stairs. He was gone longer than it should have taken to get the towel and cloth. As Sweetie was about to get them herself, Tommy came back into the room. "Mom, let me see if I can wash the blood and dirt off that cut. I think some of your hair is sticking to the wound. Put this other wet cloth over your eye."

As Tommy was trying to clean the wound, Vonciel, wearing a tennis skirt, and Paul, wearing a blue plus fours golf ensemble, came running into the house. Paul was carrying his doctor's bag. Vonciel exclaimed, "Sweetie, girl, what happened?"

"I tripped and hit my head on the desk..."

Tommy said firmly, "I believe Harry did this."

Before Sweetie could protest, Paul was examining her wound. "Sweetie, that cut looks bad. We should get you to my office and fix you up; it looks like I'll have to put in a few stitches."

"No! I'll be all right. I don't want anyone to see me like this."

"Don't worry; my office is closed. It's Wednesday afternoon. Tommy's call came just as we were leaving home for the country club."

Tommy said angrily, "I think he hit her in the stomach. She was lying on the floor almost bent double when I found her."

Paul lifted her blouse and felt her abdomen. "Is this tender?"

Sweetie recoiled and grimaced from the pressure of Paul's fingers. "Yes, it's a little tender."

"We should take a few X-rays. Ciel knows how to run the equipment. Let's get you up now. Think you can walk?"

"Yes, I think so. I... may need a little help."

Tommy and Paul each took an arm and helped her out of the chair. "Be careful, Paul, I don't want to get any blood on your new garb."

"Don't worry, Sweetie; let's take care of you."

Bogalusa, Louisiana

July 22, 1952

"Knock, knock ..."

"Uncle Bobby, welcome home! I didn't hear you come in."

"Hi, Buddy. I was quiet because I want to surprise everyone."

Tommy grinned. "You won't surprise anybody; we're expecting you this afternoon."

"Is baseball season over?"

"Yes sir, it ended a couple of weeks ago ..."

"In her last letter, your mother said you pitched a no-hitter."

"Yes sir, but it was only a six-inning game, and I walked a few."

"You should have mentioned it in one of your letters to me."

"I didn't want to brag about it. Mom says we're going on a fishing trip while you're on leave. She arranged for a cabin in Florida, and a two-day excursion on the boat. We'll have a fun time."

"Your mother is well-organized... she upstairs?"

"Yes sir, she's in her room."

"Let's see if we can surprise her."

"No, Uncle Bobby, you go up by yourself. I know she wants to welcome you back."

Bobby eased up the stairs without a sound and pushed open Sweetie's door. She was sitting at the dresser, brushing her hair. He observed that she had returned to being a blonde; he always preferred her with blonde hair. Tiptoeing into the room as far as he dared, he said, "Hello, is this Miss Harlow's boudoir?"

She did not appear surprised, but she almost leaped up from her bench stool and was on Bobby in a flash. She grabbed him around the shoulders and kissed him. "Bobby, oh, it's so good to see you. You look fabulous!"

"You look nice yourself. I like the hair. You get more beautiful and sexier every time I see you."

"Thank you, hon; I felt like being a blonde again. But please, no dumb blonde jokes."

"You... dumb? Not hardly."

"Are you on leave for thirty days?"

"No, sadly; I have orders to be in San Francisco to catch military transport to Honolulu on August 7. I'll fly from there by military air transport to Tokyo, and then by helicopter to the U.S.S. Philippine Sea. I will have to catch a commercial flight out of New Orleans to San Francisco on August 5. Will that schedule interfere with our fishing trip?"

"No; no problem, just disappointing. We'll drive over to a fishing village called Destin day after tomorrow. We have a cabin for the whole week, but we'll be out on the boat for one of those nights. That'll get us back here on July 31. We'll have plenty of time to party before you leave... Did you see Tommy downstairs?"

"Yes, I did. He's a growing boy... I guess he's thirteen now, right? And already taller than you."

"Um... I should tell you; the cabin has only one bed and a cot. You and Tommy will share the bed, and I'll sleep on the cot. We'll have other opportunities to be alone with each other."

"I am okay with those arrangements, but what about Lucille?"

"She doesn't want to go. She's afraid to be in the boat out of sight of land. Ciel will let her stay with Paula while we're gone... now kiss me quick."

"Sweetie, what's with that scar on your forehead? That must have been a nasty cut."

Knowing what Bobby would probably do if she told him how she acquired the scar, she lied, "I fell and hit my head on the edge of the desk in the downstairs study. Tommy and Paul took good care of me. Paul says the scar will fade with time. Now, off with those clothes."

"Well, looks like it's time to say goodbye again. These past couple of weeks flew by."

"Sweetie, you planned a great fishing trip. Tommy will remember that forever... but did you really have to catch the biggest fish?"

"Hah! Tommy's still ecstatic about you taking him to the Pensacola naval air base; he constantly talks about getting to sit in the cockpit of a Hellcat. I'm sorry I couldn't go, but my sunburn was so bad..."

They paused to listen to the announcement from overhead. "Crap, they're calling my flight. I better walk out to the boarding area," Bobby said regretfully.

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk out there with you?"

"No; let's say our goodbyes here."

They embraced and kissed; then Bobby broke away and headed out the door.

"Don't you forget; we'll meet again, fighter jockey!" She called cheerfully as he walked away, but felt strongly she would never see him again.

Aboard the U.S.S. Philippine Sea

July 16, 1953

Dear Sweetie,

I guess over two wars and numerous theaters of operation, I have written you a hundred letters or more. This one will not be like any I have written before.

The war is winding down. The word aboard ship is that the warring parties could declare a ceasefire at any time. Even now, we fly fewer missions than ever. I go sometimes three or four days without flying a sortie, and thus I have plenty of time to think, and most of my thinking is about us. I know when I came home from the Pacific after World War II, things did not go well for me or for us at first. I don't what my problem was; I guess I still had a warrior mentality, and felt out of place in the post-war world. Thanks to your help and the year I spent on Roddy's farm, I pulled through. This time I do not think I will have any difficulty adjusting to peacetime life. Although I love to fly; I am tired of war; I am tired of flying combat missions.

It looks almost certain I will get the assignment with the Blue Angels after the war. That will involve a lot of travel, but I will have a base of operations in the U.S., either at Corpus Christi, Texas or at Pensacola. If the assignment doesn't come through for me or after I rotate out of that group, I plan to go back to college and get an engineering degree and maybe play some baseball while there. I'm anxious to return home.

That gets me to us. You told me never to say it again, but I am compelled by my feelings to disobey you. Sweetie, I love you. I have loved you since we were kids. I think you love me; you said so in Pensacola. I believe you still love me. I want us to be together. I cannot offer you the life you live with Harry, but I can offer you my love and my respect forever.

I should be home soon, and we can talk about our future then.

I love you,

Bobby

P.S. Give my love to Tommy and Lucille.

Sweetie received this letter on July 24. She could not decide whether to write him, or wait for his return home. In either case, she knew what she was going to say and what she was going to do–something she should have done years before.

Aboard carrier U.S.S. Philippine Sea (CV-47) off the coast of North Korea

July 26, 1953

Bobby Howe sat near the front of the briefing room at 0430 hours, finishing a cup of coffee and a cigarette. The red illumination to save the pilot's night vision gave a surreal appearance to everything. The pilots were milling around, waiting for the XO to enter the room. The men expected only routine patrols today. Bobby thought about his tour with the Philippine Sea. He was an ace again; he achieved his fifth kill last week, shooting down a Soviet World War II vintage Fang propeller fighter. Among the five kills to his credit was one MIG-15 jet, but from the way the pilot maneuvered the MIG during their brief encounter, Bobby surmised it must have been flown by an inexperienced North Korean pilot. The Panther was no match for a MIG-15 controlled by an experienced Soviet pilot.

The CO himself entered the room. Everyone went to attention; the CO ordered at ease even before he reached the podium in the front of the room and issued the flying orders for the day. The Corsairs and Hellcats would take off first, then the Panthers would be brought up on the elevator to the flight deck and launched. Bobby looked at his watch and estimated his Panther would take off well after sunrise.

The CO laid out everyone's assignment and ended by saying, "This war is winding down. Reports are the U.N. and the Reds will sign a ceasefire today or tomorrow. Watch out for surprises! We've been close to ending the hostilities before, and then the Chinese would mount a major attack on a U.N. position. Today we expect no bandits to challenge us, but the Panthers will fly cover overhead to protect the prop planes from any possible action by the Reds. The prop planes will fly their patterns at low altitude to reconnoiter the area for any ground activity that might threaten U.N. positions. Panthers, you guys watch out for your little buddies. As always, if the MIGs come on the scene, do not engage them unless necessary. The Air Force Sabers patrol that sector, so call them for help. That is all; dismissed."

Bobby and the other pilots snapped to attention again as the CO vacated the briefing room. The pilots sauntered down to the ready room to finish their preparations before launching.

The catapult launch was without incident, and the climb to angels twenty-five routine. Bobby and his three wingmen patrolled an area about thirty-five miles above the Thirty-Eighth Parallel. So far, they spotted no enemy planes and the lower-flying prop planes reported no significant enemy activity on the ground.

Bobby completed a routine report to the carrier when it felt like someone put the brakes on his Panther, slowing the air speed drastically. A quick search of the skies showed Bobby there were no hostile aircraft in the vicinity. At once, almost by reflex, Bobby pushed the thrust lever forward; but the Pratt & Whitney J-48 engine did not respond. A rapid scan of his instruments showed Bobby the engine RPMs were just a little above idle. He radioed his wingmen to break away, and advised them he was experiencing engine trouble. Bobby cut back on the thrust lever, but the engine continued at the same RPMs. He worked the thrust lever to and fro several times without engine response. He adjusted his controls to give his aircraft the best possible glide ratio. He made a mayday call to the Philippine Sea.

"Easy Base, Easy Leader. Mayday, Mayday, do you copy?"

"Copy, Easy Leader."

"Easy Base, Easy Leader. I am experiencing engine difficulty. Engine is not responding to adjustments to thrust lever. I am losing power and altitude."

"Easy Leader. Is this the result of enemy fire?"

"Negative. I believe it to be a fuel delivery problem. Engine is developing only a little above idle thrust, so I am basically dead-stick."

"Can you make it back to the carrier?"

"Negative. I am more than a hundred miles from the carrier, and losing altitude too fast to make that distance. I believe my current position is about twenty miles north of friendly territory."

"Easy Leader. Stand-by while we check with radar... We have your transponder on radar and confirm your position."

"Easy Base. I recall there is an abandoned South Korean airstrip about ten miles inside friendly territory. I believe I can make a landing there."

"Easy leader. Switch to frequency two zero zero point two."

"This is Easy Leader on two zero zero two. Do you copy?"

"Roger, we copy. Vector one seven six for the airstrip."

"Roger. Vector one seven six. Believe I remain over enemy territory."

"Roger. Radar confirms you are over hostile ground. You should be over friendly territory in less than five minutes. Easy Two is flying chase for you; we are in contact with him on another frequency."

"Roger. I have visual on Easy Two at nine o'clock."

"Easy Leader. What is your altitude?"

"Angels fifteen, still descending rapidly."

"Roger. Rescue has dispatched a helicopter to pick you up, and will leave Marine squad to secure the aircraft. ETA on the helo is forty-four minutes. Copy?"

"Roger, Easy Base. Copy. I believe I am over friendly territory now. Estimating nine minutes to the airstrip."

"Roger, Easy Leader. Radar confirms you are over friendly ground. You can eject if you need. Helo can pick you up."

"Roger, Easy Base. Negative on ejection. There are population centers in the area. Will ride the bird down."

"Roger. ETA for helo now five-zero minutes. It is encountering strong headwinds."

"Roger. five-zero minutes for the copter. Estimating seven minutes to the airstrip. How will I amuse myself while I wait for the copter?"

"Roger, copy. We will help you pass the time, Lieutenant. Maybe we can play twenty questions."

"Easy Base. I have visual on the airstrip."

"Roger, copy. Radar has lost you."

"Roger. My altitude now nine thousand feet... Now seven thousand feet... Down to five thousand feet... Approaching the airstrip ahead... I am at three thousand feet; airstrip is about a thousand yards ahead. Gear and flaps coming down."

"Roger. Keep talking until you come to a stop."

"Roger, just a few hundred feet above the ground, coming up on the north end of the runway ... Oh sh..."

"Easy Leader, say again. Are you on the ground?"

No response.

"Easy Leader, respond." After a pause: "Easy Leader, do you copy?"

"Easy Two, Easy Base. We lost contact with Easy Leader; do you still have visual on him, over?"

"Ciel."

"Hi, Sweetie, what's happening?"

"Can you come over and keep me company?" Sweetie asked in a shaky voice.

"Sure, I'll be over in fifteen minutes. What's the matter?"

"I'm scared. Something bad has happened to Bobby, I just know it."

It took Vonciel less than fifteen minutes to get from the new house she and Paul recently built on acreage north of town to the Glass residence, where Sweetie still lived. As usual, she walked in without knocking and found Sweetie in her room, sitting stiffly in a chair by the bed. "Sweetie, what's troubling you?"

Ciel's best friend turned a tear-streaked face toward her. "I have this awful feeling Bobby's in trouble. The feeling won't go away."

"Sweetie, Bobby's fine. That boy can take care of himself; he's indestructible. Besides, the war is almost over. I heard on the television this morning that they should sign an armistice either today or tomorrow. Bobby will be coming home, and will soon be flying with the Blue Angels."

Bogalusa, Louisiana

July 28, 1953

At a little after ten o'clock that morning, Vonciel pulled her car into the Glass's semi-circular driveway to check on Sweetie. Two days had passed since Sweetie's panic attack, and they have heard no news, bad or good, about Bobby. Vonciel figured no news was good news. The war ended yesterday with a ceasefire agreement between all parties, and they could look forward to Bobby returning home soon.

She had not seen Sweetie so distraught since early in the last war, when she thought Bobby had been killed in North Africa.

Just as she was approaching the front door, a sedan pulled into the Glass's driveway and parked behind her Buick. The vehicle was solid black except for a white star on the door and the white letters "USN" beneath the star. She got chills as she knew what this must be about.

Two men got out of the car; she recognized the insignias on their uniforms. One man was a Navy Captain, the other, a Navy Commander. She waited until the two men approached the stoop where she was standing, and asked, "Can I help you?"

The Navy Captain replied, "Are you Mrs. Mildred Glass?"

"No, but I believe she's in the house. Come in and I'll get her for you."

The two men walked into the house with Vonciel, and she nervously invited them to sit down in the living room just off the entrance foyer, hoping against hope she was wrong about the reason for this visit. Feeling jittery, she asked where they came from. The Captain replied they had driven from the naval air station in New Orleans. She told Melba to offer the men coffee while she went to let Sweetie know of the visitors.

She found Sweetie in her room folding clothes, and took a deep breath before she plucked her courage up and said steadily, "Sweetie, two high-ranking naval officers are downstairs in the living room to see you."

Sweetie's knees almost buckled, but she regained balance and looked sharply at her friend. "No. Oh no. Please don't tell me..."

"Sweetie, they didn't say what they wanted."

Panting suddenly, as if she were in distress, Sweetie told Vonciel, "I-I look a mess. Please ask them to wait a few minutes so I can get myself together. Please?"

Walking down the stairs, she heard Sweetie start her bathwater. Vonciel asked the men if they could wait for Mrs. Glass to get presentable, and they nodded agreement. A bit later, they requested more coffee, and inquired whether it was all right to smoke in that room. Without a word, Melba brought each an ashtray.

A moment later, Tommy entered the room, introduced himself to the men, and asked what they were doing. "We need to speak to you mother, son," the Captain said. The Captain observed, without comment, as to how much fourteen-year-old Tommy Glass resembled the photograph he had seen that morning of Lieutenant Howe.

After about forty minutes, Sweetie walked into the room looking very elegant, as always; she had bathed, put on makeup, and was wearing the beige dress she often wore to church. She sported a small Robin Hood hat with a feather cocked to the side of her head, and was wearing white gloves. The naval officers stood instantly, introduced themselves to her, and came straight to the point.

"Mrs. Glass, Lieutenant Robert Howe designated you as his next of kin. Are you a sister, or what?"

With a brittle smile, she said, "No, I'm just a good friend. He has no family. Please call me Sweetie."

"Okay... Sweetie; you may want to sit down."

"No, I'm fine standing here."

Vonciel walked over and put her arm around her friend's waist; and with gentle but firm emphasis, said, "Sweetie, sit down."

Sweetie, almost in a trance, allowed herself to be walked to the sofa and sat down with Vonciel. Tommy sat down on the other side of her, each of them holding one of her hands.

"Sweetie, it is with deep regret we inform you Lieutenant Robert Howe was killed two days ago a few miles below the thirty-eighth parallel in Korea, while on a mission from the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Philippine Sea."

Sweetie showed no reaction. She took her hands away from her son and her friend, reaching into her purse to bring out a pack of Lucky Strikes. She fumbled somewhat getting one from the pack. The Navy Commander fished his Zippo lighter from his pocket, walked over, and lit Sweetie's cigarette. She thanked him, and took a couple of puffs before speaking.

"I knew it," she said in a low voice. "I felt it. Was he brought down by enemy fire?"

"No, ma'am. The Navy is still investigating, and there will be an official inquiry, but we believe it was an engine malfunction. He was trying to land the plane at a small emergency airstrip. We don't have complete information yet; all we have is a report we received by teletype early this morning. Based upon the eyewitness account of the wingman flying chase for him, we believe as he was approaching the emergency landing strip in his disabled jet, possibly a sudden change in wind direction, a phenomenon called a 'wind shear' caused the nose of the plane to dip, and he didn't have sufficient altitude or forward speed to take corrective action. His plane crashed a few feet short of the end of the runway and burst into flames."

Sweetie nodded sharply. "I knew no enemy could take him down. He flew Hurricanes against the Germans and Italians in North Africa before America even entered the war. Our Navy grabbed him from the Brits, and he flew Hellcats in the Pacific He was leading a good life until the Navy recalled him for this war. He should be given a medal for what he's done for this country."

The Captain answered, "Yes, ma'am, we've seen his record. He was a brave and dedicated man..."

Sweetie interrupted, "When can I have the body?"

Vonciel and Tommy were incredulous that Sweetie didn't seem to have any overt emotional reaction to this news.

The Captain answered, "We expect to get the body back here in two weeks. It will be in a sealed casket. He was burned beyond recognition."

"Did he suffer?"

"No ma'am, he was killed in the crash. The plane exploded only after it hit the ground."

"Are they sure it was him? During the last war, he went missing on a mission for several weeks before Allied troops liberated him from an Italian prison hospital."

"No ma'am, there is no doubt it's him. The wingman saw his Panther crash and burn, and the dental records are incontrovertible." Nobody spoke for a few seconds, so the Navy Captain continued, "Will you want a military funeral?"

"Oh yes, by all means."

"The Navy will provide an honor guard. Do you have a plot for him?"

"No, I want him buried in a military cemetery."

"We can make the necessary arrangements, and secure space for him at a nearby facility."

They talked for several more minutes about various details regarding the military funeral. Sweetie smiled during the entire conversation. After the officers and Sweetie satisfied themselves with the arrangements, the navy officers handed Sweetie small cards imprinted with their names and phone numbers and departed. Sweetie walked them to the door, and thanked them for delivering the news in person.

A week after the Navy had informed Sweetie of Bobby's death, she received a letter from Bobby's commanding officer aboard the Philippine Sea. She read the letter twice, refolded it, and placed it in the box where she kept all the letters she received from Bobby. She experienced a twinge of sadness as she replaced the box top, knowing this would be the last letter she would put into that box.

After putting the box on a closet shelf, she went about her usual chores.

Instead of two weeks, it took over three weeks for the casket to arrive in Bogalusa. The delay allowed Roddy Hewitt time to arrive from South Africa in time for the funeral. Sweetie and Roddy had never met, and she was ecstatic to meet him. "I feel like I know you, Roddy. Bobby talked so much about you."

"It's the same with me, Mrs. Glass. He talked about you and Tommy when we were flying together in Africa, and even more during the year he spent at my farm."

"Oh, please call me Sweetie." She reached over and gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, "Thank you so much for coming; your presence would have meant a lot to him."

The casket containing Bobby Howe's remains was delivered to Alford's Funeral Home. The night before the interment, Sweetie sat by the casket all night. Roddy and Tommy kept her company the entire vigil. To Sweetie's despair, very few local people visited the funeral home to pay their respects, and only a small number of flower sprays were received; most were from military units. Melba came by early in the evening and could not contain her emotions. She cried as she knelt in prayer next to the casket. Sweetie put her arms around her and walked her to a chair.

A little after ten o'clock Monday morning, August 24, 1953, a small motorcade left Bogalusa for the two-hour trip to the Biloxi military cemetery. Sweetie was dressed in a black sheath dress, black pillbox hat, and black veil. Roddy and Tommy rode with her in the funeral home's black Cadillac. Sweetie and Harry's daughter, Lucille, rode with Paul, Vonciel, and Paula. Melba rode in the hearse. Mr. and Mrs. Glass drove to the cemetery earlier, and were at the gravesite before the motorcade arrived.

Harry sent a telegram early that morning saying he regretted he could not attend the services because of urgent committee hearings in Washington. He sent a large floral arrangement to the cemetery.

The naval honor guard and pallbearers awaited the motorcade at the gravesite, standing at parade rest. As the hearse pulled into place, the honor guard and pallbearers snapped to attention and saluted the hearse; held the salute until it stopped then eased their hands to their sides. The pallbearers retrieved the casket, and with slow, deliberate steps, carried it to the grave. A chaplain from the New Orleans Naval Air Station conducted the services. The twenty-one-gun salute was fired, and Taps played. A wing of four Panther jets flew low over the cemetery. The lead plane broke away from the group in the "missing man formation".

Sweetie sat in a stoic manner throughout the service. Near the end of the ceremony, two petty officers removed the flag from the casket and folded it.

One of the petty officers presented the folded flag to Sweetie, saying, "On behalf of the President of the United States and the Chief of Naval Operations, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's service to this Country and a grateful Navy." She smiled and thanked the petty officer, but showed no other emotion.

As the motorcade was leaving the cemetery to return to Bogalusa at 1:30 p.m., Sweetie said she was hungry. The driver pulled the Cadillac into the Edgewater Hotel parking lot, and the trailing car pulled in behind them. The hearse continued on to Bogalusa. Sweetie ate a heavy meal at the hotel restaurant, carrying on an animated conversation with Roddy.

It was after five p.m. before Sweetie returned home. She went upstairs to change clothes in front of her bureau mirror before greeting the few guests awaiting downstairs.

Before she could change, Tommy knocked softly on her bedroom door. She invited him in, and looking in the mirror, took the pins out of her pillbox hat and black veil. She viewed her son with admiration. He was still in the suit he worn to the funeral. Tommy was fourteen now, at least a couple of inches taller than his mother. His teachers recognized him as a gifted student like his mother, and his athletic coaches realized he was a talented athlete... like his biological father, Sweetie thought to herself.

Her son looked a little troubled. She could see he wanted to say something, but he seemed hesitant to speak. Sweetie took off her dress, carefully hung it in her closet, and was wearing her slip when Tommy at last said something: "Mom, let's sit on the bed here... Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Beau," she said, "we've always been able to talk with each other."

"Mom... that was a moving ceremony today. Have you ever been to a military funeral before?"

"Yes, Beau. During the Second World War, two young men from Bogalusa were killed in Army training accidents, and in each case the Army conducted military funerals at Ponemah Cemetery. Your Aunt C.C. and I attended both of the funerals to support the families."

"Mom... Uncle Bobby had no family at all?"

"No, Beau, we were his only family. Sarah, his mother, died in childbirth when he was five. The baby sister she was carrying also died. Bobby's dad was never the same; he took to drinking and trouble-making. Not long after Bobby graduated from high school, his father disappeared. Some people say he ran off with a Gypsy queen to California. Nobody seems to know."

Tommy still hesitated to speak what was on his mind, so he asked, "Mom, if I ask you something, will you answer me truthfully?"

"Of course, Beau, we've always told the truth to each other. What do you want to know?"

"Mom... was Uncle Bobby my real father?"

Sweetie looked surprised at Tommy's question. She smiled at him, but in an instant, her facial expression crumpled, giving way to her pent-up sadness. Still looking at Tommy and not answering his question, her bottom lip quivered, followed seconds later by tears–a lot of tears. She bawled, and could not speak. She grabbed Tommy and pulled him close to her and held onto him tightly, continuing to cry almost hysterically.

Her crying attracted Melba's attention, who knocked on the door, cracked it open, and stuck her head in the half-opened door. "Mr. Tommy, is your mother okay? Can I do something for her?"

"No ma'am, she's fine. She's letting her bottled-up emotions out at last. She'll be down after a while."

"Thank goodness, that child has needed a good cry for a long time. Let me know if y'all need anything."

Sweetie continued crying for what seemed like an eternity, but it must have been only about five minutes. At last she composed herself, using a tissue to wipe her face and blow her nose, and then looked at Tommy. "Why are you asking that?"

"Well, was he?"

After a long pause, she nodded and whispered, "Yes."

"Did Uncle Bobby know?"

She was smiling now. "I never told him... he must have guessed. When he was in Africa, I wrote that you had been born in April, but after he got back home, I'm sure he noticed we celebrated your birthday in February. He could do the arithmetic; he knew but never let on."

"Does Harry know?"

"He's suspected for a long time, but I never confessed to him and he was never certain."

"Mom... why didn't you marry Uncle... I mean Bobby? Harry's been no good for you."

"Beau, it's too complicated to explain. Please promise me two things: first, please never, ever tell another soul what you learned today. There are only three other people who know this secret."

"Aunt C.C., I bet."

"Yes, and Uncle Paul."

"Miss Melba probably knows."

"Yes, she knows. But Beau, this secret could hurt some dear people. Mama Ola and Pops love you more than you can imagine, and I think it would devastate them to find out what you learned today."

"Don't worry, Mom; I'll keep this secret. What else do you want me to promise?"

"Beau, please don't ever retaliate against Harry for what you think he may have done to me."

"Mom, I'm not sure that's a promise I can make."

"Please, Beau; it has to stop now. Bobby did something to him at the President Truman's Inaugural Ball... I'm not sure what he did, but I can only guess. Harry will forever live in the shadow of a ghost from which he can never escape. So, let's just let it go now."

"Okay, Mom, I promise, but I don't want to have anything more to do with Harry Glass."

"Neither do I, Beau, but let's both move forward from here with our lives."

"Sure Mom, I agree. Mom, one more thing. Did you love Bobby?"

"Yes, of course, ever since I first knew him, and I'll always love him."

Sweetie's eyes watered again, and she cried softly while Tommy reached over and held his mother in a tight embrace.
Epilogue

Less than two months after Bobby was laid to rest, Sweetie sued Harry for divorce on the grounds of abandonment. A few weeks before she filed, Sweetie and Harry met face-to-face to discuss the divorce, and agreed they would separate on an amicable basis.

After prodding from his friend Gary Briggs, Harry entertained second thoughts about how his reputation and reelection prospects would be affected by Sweetie divorcing him. Harry retained a divorce lawyer out of New Orleans with a sleazy reputation to represent him in the divorce proceedings. His lawyer countersued Sweetie, seeking a divorce in Harry's favor on the grounds of adultery and mental cruelty. The divorce petition sought full custody of the two children, and asked the court to order Sweetie's eviction from the family domicile. Harry's lawyer gave Sweetie ten days' notice that he would take her deposition in front of Harry under oath about her infidelities.

When Mr. Glass learned of Harry's countersuit, he flew to Washington to confront Harry. He told his son he did not give a damn if he was a U.S. Congressman, he would not stand for what Harry was doing to Sweetie. First, he told Harry the home belonged to him and Ola and under no circumstances would Sweetie be forced out. Second, he told Harry not to seek custody of the children or he might well find himself disowned and cut out of his and Ola's wills. Third, he did not want the reputation of the mother of his grandchildren besmirched by spurious allegations.

Harry immediately fired his attorney and dropped his countersuit.

Sweetie's divorce became final a year later. Twelve-year-old Lucille blamed Sweetie for the divorce, and demanded she be sent to live with her father in Washington. Sweetie struggled with Lucille over the next several years. Two days after graduating from high school, Lucille took a train to Washington. She and Sweetie remained estranged for many years thereafter.

In January 1954, Sweetie entered Louisiana State University as a beginning freshman majoring in English. Although retired from the school system, Miss Quark helped Sweetie qualify for the scholarship she turned down eighteen years earlier.

Mr. Glass decided it would be a good long-term investment to own real estate in Baton Rouge. He purchased a thirty-year-old house in excellent condition near the campus with enough room for Sweetie and the children. The home, overlooking a lake, included a nanny apartment which allowed Val to move to Baton Rouge to help with the household.

In three years, Sweetie finished LSU with honors; her graduation was the same day as Tommy's commencement ceremony at Baton Rouge High School, where he finished as valedictorian. Tommy won a competitive appointment to the Naval Academy in Annapolis after turning down a guaranteed appointment Harry arranged for him. In four years, Thomas, as he was then known, finished near the top of his class at the Academy. It surprised no one when he opted for naval aviation upon graduation.

Sweetie returned to Bogalusa and taught second-year English at the high school until she resigned to volunteer for the Peace Corps.

In November 1958, Mr. and Mrs. Glass were killed in a car crash on Highway 21 returning home from a football game in New Orleans. Their wills provided Sweetie would inherit the family home on Louisiana Avenue, and she and the two children were granted generous trust funds.

After her stint in the Peace Corps, Sweetie and Roddy Hewitt collaborated on two books: The American Ghost, a Biography of Lt. Robert Howe and Please, Not Again, a humorous account of Roddy's capture and imprisonment by the Germans, Italians, Soviets and British during the war. Sweetie later wrote a five-book fictional series featuring Flight Lieutenant Bobby Batson of the RAF, an American who flew Hurricanes during Dunkirk and the Battle of Britain. Although these books were aimed at adolescent readers, critics and military historians agreed her descriptions of the air battles during these operations were well-researched and accurate.

Six months after the divorce was final, Harry married a nineteen-year-old filing clerk named Tammi Williams, whom he met at the bar in the Hay-Adams Hotel. She was a contestant in the Miss Arizona pageant the year before and moved to Washington to work as a temporary in a Congressman's office. A daughter was born to Tammi about six months after they were married.

The couple separated and divorced before the daughter was a year old. Ironically, Tammi sued Harry for divorce on the grounds of adultery and mental cruelty. She was awarded a substantial divorce settlement, including alimony, child support, and ownership of the couple's apartment near Capitol Hill. Harry kept the Georgetown walkup, which Mr. Glass deeded to him as a wedding present, and all property he owned in Louisiana.

Harry married three more times, each time to a beautiful girl much younger than himself. Before each of the later marriages he insisted his fiancé sign a pre-nuptial agreement. He fathered no further children by any of his later wives.

Harry served his first term in the House of Representatives and was twice reelected to his seat by substantial majorities, serving six years. He remained popular among the voters of his district and seemed a cinch to win a fourth term until the Justice Department, under the new Republican administration, informed Harry he was a target of an investigation of kickbacks by government contractors. The Justice Department agreed not to prosecute or to make their investigation public if he left public office. He did so, and, along with Gary Briggs also a target in the investigation, joined a Washington, D.C. consulting firm.

Harry was married to wife number five, although living apart, in 2003 when he died of a myocardial infarction. His will provided that his fortune be divided half to Lucille and half to his daughter by his second wife, Tammi.

As a decorated World War II veteran and former member of Congress, Harry was afforded a full military burial at Arlington National Cemetery. The day before the funeral, Thomas emailed his sister, Lucille, notifying her he needed to attend urgent business in Brussels regarding his security company and would miss the funeral. He sent a large flower arrangement to the graveside from him, his wife, Julie, and their two sons.

Paul never talked about his experiences on Bataan or in the POW camp, neither to Vonciel nor to anyone else. On May 22, 1957, when Tommy and his mother were in Bogalusa for a few days before their graduations in Baton Rouge, Paul sent word for Tommy to drop by his office after lunch, saying he wanted to give him a graduation card. Tommy arrived just as Paul's last patient was leaving, and his receptionist was closing the office. Paul invited Tommy into his office and offered him a Coke, which Tommy accepted.

Paul brought two cold bottles into the office, and as he walked to his office, out of habit, he checked the origin of both bottles. Paul handed the young man a sealed envelope containing a graduation card and said, "Naval Academy... Tommy, we are all proud of you and we know you will do well. I have to tell you, however, that for a long time I hated the Navy. Those of us on Bataan thought they abandoned us. After our rescue, though, we learned there was no way for the Navy to come to our aid. The Japs crippled our Navy at Pearl Harbor to such an extent they were unable to muster sufficient strength to affect a rescue before the Japs overran us at Bataan."

Tommy took a couple of sips from his Coke and said nothing. Paul returned to his story. "Even today, I have nightmares about the times we were trying to hold back the Jap assault, and the subsequent treatment at the hands of our captors. I think about the good men who lost their lives on the Death March, and in the camp before we were rescued..."

Paul continued talking for over two hours, recounting the hell he and his fellow POWs lived through during those years of captivity, with few interruptions from Tommy. Tears came to his eyes as he recounted the P-61 Black Widow flying over the camp to distract the guards, and the rescue that night by the Army Rangers and the Filipino militia. His eyes brightened as he recounted his reunion with Vonciel in San Francisco, and meeting his daughter for the first time, when Sweetie and Val brought Paula to meet him when his and Vonciel's plane arrived in New Orleans.

He finished his narrative, and both sat in silence for a short time before Paul spoke again. "Tommy, always do your mother proud. She deserves all the happiness that can ever come her way."

He embraced Tommy for several seconds before they walked out the building together. Tommy was the only person to whom Paul would ever relate details about his captivity.

The years Paul spent as a POW took its toll on his body. He tried to pace his activities, to exercise at the YMCA on a regular basis, and to eat healthy. As a physician, Paul understood the health risks associated with smoking even before the Surgeon-General issued his report on the risks of smoking. He quit smoking and persuaded Vonciel to give up the habit, but could never convince Sweetie to do so. Later in life, she contracted lung cancer because of her heavy smoking habit.

Despite his healthy lifestyle, Paul never enjoyed full health. His weight remained below its pre-war level, and the malaria he contracted in the POW camp recurred from time to time. He maintained his medical practice, took part in church and civic affairs, and doted on his four girls. He enjoyed a thriving practice, treating anyone who needed his help, whether they could pay or not. He was one of the few white doctors in the parish who would take Negro patients (although as was the custom, he maintained separate waiting rooms for White and Colored). It came as a shock to many of his friends and patients when, at age 45, he suffered a massive heart attack while playing golf on July 17, 1963 with his regular foursome, two of whom were also doctors. Despite immediate first aid treatment by his golf partners, Paul died on the golf course before the ambulance could reach him.

Sweetie was teaching children at a remote Zulu village in South Africa as a Peace Corps volunteer when Paul died. It took two days for word of his passing to reach her. Roddy immediately flew his new Cessna 172 to a small dirt landing strip near the village, picked her up, and flew her directly to the Durban airport, where Kitten was waiting with her passport, exit visa, and tickets to New Orleans. Vonciel delayed the funeral for several days, awaiting Sweetie's arrival.

During Paul's confinement in the POW camp, Vonciel found imperturbation from almost daily visits to the Catholic Church near her home in Bogalusa. She converted to Catholicism in late 1944. After her conversion, she prayed daily to Saint Robert of Noblac, the patron saint of war prisoners, for Paul's return. Paul converted to Catholicism in late 1945, and became an active member of the Knights of Columbus. His service at the local Catholic Church was attended by an overflowing crowd. There were many more mourners at the graveside, about half of whom were Colored. Several of the former POWs of Cabanatuan prison camp served as pallbearers.

Vonciel did not outlive her husband by very long. In February 1967, during a routine physical examination, her doctor diagnosed her with breast cancer. She underwent a radical mastectomy and the surgeon removed hundreds of lymph nodes. She received six months of chemotherapy treatment and lost her hair as a result. The surgery and chemotherapy were to no avail; the cancer metastasized throughout her body. In early December 1967 she entered the hospital for the last time. She lingered for two weeks, with Sweetie constantly at her bedside. She asked Sweetie to watch over her four daughters. Without hesitation, Sweetie promised her friend she would do so. She passed away two days before Christmas.

Naval Lieutenant Commander Thomas Glass, on leave between tours in Vietnam, delivered the eulogy for his Aunt C.C.

Windsor Court Hotel

New Orleans, Louisiana

March 20, 1997

Rear Admiral Thomas Glass, U.S. Navy (Ret.) finished preening in front of the mirror and chuckled at himself; his once jet-black hair was now interspersed with so many gray hairs, he was becoming a "salt and pepper." Even his mom teased him about his gray hairs only two weeks ago. His watch read 0835 hours; although retired for over five years, he still functioned on military time. Roddy asked him the previous night, before they turned in, to knock on his door at nine o'clock sharp. Thomas did not want to rush the old man, so he unfolded the Times-Picayune which came with his room service coffee and breakfast and worked the crossword puzzle. Using a ballpoint pen, he completed the puzzle in less than ten minutes. He retrieved his uniform from the room's closet and removed the dry cleaner's plastic bag. He tried it on before he sent it to the dry cleaner, so he knew it would be snug, but wearable. He called down to the valet to have his car brought around to the front, and for a bellhop to take down his and Roddy's luggage. Dressed, he ran the comb through his hair one more time, lifted the box off the desk, and walked out into the hall.

Roddy was pacing in the hall, showing his impatience. The old man asked if he could carry the box; Thomas was hesitant, but said, "Sure," and handed it over. Roddy's walk was unsteady because of a stroke six-years previously, so Thomas gripped his upper arm and led him to the elevators, through the lobby and outside. His almost-new 1996 Mercedes-Benz E320 was waiting with the engine running, the young parking attendant holding the door open. Thomas assisted Roddy into the passenger seat, placed the box in his lap, and walked around to the driver's side. He tipped the young man two dollars, slid into his seat, and made certain Roddy's seat belt was fastened.

They drove east out of New Orleans on I-10.

As he was fighting the traffic out of the city, Thomas glanced at the old man. He appeared to be asleep. Thomas wondered how old he was; his mother was seventy-seven, so Roddy must be at least in his late-eighties. As they drove through New Orleans East, the old man stirred awake and started a conversation.

"Thomas, you know I was in love with your mother. How could I travel with her throughout five continents researching those books, and not fall for her charm and wit? Not to even speak of her beauty. Did you know I proposed to her on several occasions, and she turned me down each time? She always spared my feelings, but she never gave my proposals serious consideration... I emigrated from South Africa to little Bogalusa, Louisiana in the U.S. of A. just to be near her. I have never regretted my decision for a minute. In any case, when I came over, our farm was only a shadow of what it had once been. Boycotts and sanctions because of apartheid almost drove us under. Winnie and her twin sons are still trying to make a living off what's left of the farm... Did I ever tell you the story of the time your mother and I spent the night together in Moscow?"

"No, Roddy, I don't think you ever told me that story." Thomas heard the story many times from both Roddy and his mother, but he always enjoyed hearing it and he knew Roddy loved telling it.

"Your mother tracked down Ksenia Yelagina, the NKGB major who interrogated me in eastern Germany in 1945 and who approved my release from the luft stalag. She needed an in-depth interview with Ksenia for my book, so we found Ksenia was living in huge apartment complex in a suburb of Moscow. We took the Moscow Metro subway to the end of the line, then rode a smelly bus to the entrance of a gigantic apartment complex. There must have been fifty or more monstrous apartment buildings, all looking alike.

"We walked around the area; neither of us spoke Russian, so we couldn't ask anyone to help us find the right building. After several hours, we stumbled onto Ksenia's apartment and had an enjoyable visit with her. Ksenia still spoke excellent English and was an attractive woman. No doubt, she would still fill out her NKGB uniform nicely.

"I was flattered when she confessed to your mother and me that at our first encounter at the luft stalag she felt a sexual attraction for me. However, she knew her superiors bugged her office and realized she better conduct an intensive interrogation, or her next assignment would have been a post above the Arctic Circle in Siberia.

"We found Ksenia in early March, I forget what year, but the Moscow winter wasn't yet over. While we were chatting with Ksenia drinking down copious amounts of her vodka and smoking those awful Russian cigarettes, a major snow storm came through Moscow, shutting down public transportation for the rest of the day and overnight.

"Ksenia lived alone in a two-bedroom flat; a perk of being a retired officer in the NKGB, so she offered us the other, much smaller bedroom. She assumed your mother and I were lovers; I mean, who would believe a man and women could travel all over the world together without being intimate? But we weren't.

"In some of our journeys, in particular the time we travelled to Argentina and Uruguay to interview several former Luftwaffe pilots, including the one who called Bobby the American Ghost, I thought I sensed the final barrier between your mother and I might be breached. On our last night in Montevideo, your mother and I went dancing at a fashionable night club... Your mother loved to dance... After a few too many drinks and after we danced several tangos and sambas, the band played Stardust. While slow dancing with Sweetie to that sensuous music, I kissed her. She returned the kiss. We held each other tightly and our kiss lingered. I expressed, in not too subtle language, how I would like to move our relationship to another level. She nodded affirmatively, and we continued our dance and our smooching. However, as we were leaving the nightclub, she said while my suggestion tempted her, she felt we were a great team with a solid professional working relationship, and sex would complicate things... It doesn't bother you, does it, me talking about your mother like this?"

"No Roddy, not in the least. I've always enjoy hearing a good story about my mother. She was a remarkable woman."

"Where was I? Oh! Ksenia found a wool gown for your mother and flannel pajamas from one of her ex-lovers for me. It must have been after three a.m. when we retired. The bed was small; it was slightly larger than a cot, but much smaller than a twin bed. Your mother put a pillow down the middle to separate the two of us, but the bed was so small it left no room for either of us on the bed. After she thought for a few seconds, she said, "We'll sleep back to back, but if you so much as lay a hand on me, I'll pull your arm out of your shoulder and cram it up your ass. She rarely used strong language; thus, I took her at her word and didn't stir all night."

Thomas laughed; he heard a different version of that night from his mother about how Roddy offered to sleep on the cold floor, but he liked Roddy's version better.

"Your mother finished her interview with Ksenia late the next morning, and we got back to our hotel in central Moscow by evening. The following day we caught a train to Berlin. On one knee, I proposed to her on the train between Moscow and Berlin. She was gracious, and said she was flattered. She said she carried a deep fondness for me in her heart, but didn't want to marry again. I knew she still loved Bobby. Hell, Thomas, I still love Bobby; even Winnie still loves Bobby. Over the following years, I asked her twice more, and got the same answer each time..." He sighed deeply.

"I think this is our exit. Hold onto the box."

"Don't worry, I have it secure."

Once off the interstate, they drove a few miles to the main entrance of the Biloxi Military Cemetery. The sentry in a guardhouse at the entrance saw the single star on Thomas's front license plate, indicating his rank as Rear Admiral, as well as the insignia on his uniform, so he saluted Thomas and waved the car through the gate. Thomas navigated the familiar roads in the cemetery and found a place to park near Bobby's gravesite.

Before turning off the engine, Thomas noticed that the digital thermometer on his car's dashboard read forty degrees. He could see by the trees that there was a light breeze out of the north. He walked to the trunk of his car and retrieved the cashmere topcoat he packed in one of his suitcases. The coat was too large for the frail old man, so Thomas draped it over Roddy's shoulders.

They strolled to Bobby's grave in silence, but as they approached, Roddy asked, "Is this the only remembrance your mother wanted? Just you and I? She wanted no funeral or memorial service?"

"Yes, this is what she requested."

Thomas took the box from Roddy. He peeled it open and removed the thick plastic bag inside. Drawing a knife from his trouser pocket, he slit open the plastic bag, and spread the ashes in as even a manner as possible over the entire grave. Then he kneeled in the damp grass and, using his fingers with much patience, worked the ashes into the grass until they could no longer be seen. Then the Rear Admiral stood up, took a handkerchief from his back pocket, wiped his hands, and came to attention. He saluted the small American flag over the grave marker, and brought his arm down to his side.

His eyes teared up as he whispered, "Mom and Dad, may you always be together."

As they walked back to the car, Roddy asked, his eyes bright, "What did I hear you say back there?"

"Nothing, old man; you heard nothing. Now, let's find somewhere to eat and then head home. Julie is expecting us back in Bogalusa late this afternoon."

THE END

