Winds of Change

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I—I don’t know what to do, Clint. I’ll do anything I can so I can get rid of the kind of guy I’ve always been. I’ve never really liked myself.”

  The two men bowed their heads and prayed a simple prayer. When Frazier looked up, there was awe in his eyes as he said, “You know something, Clint? I feel good. I feel all—well, all kind of cleaned out.”

  “So do I, Red.” Clint slapped the radio operator on the back. “We’re both cleaned out now, and whatever happens, we belong to Jesus.”

  In July, after a three-week period of sodden weather, General Eaker stepped up the size and the frequency of the Eighth’s attacks. It was called Blitz Week, an around-the-clock bombardment in cooperation with the Royal Air Force. On the twenty-fourth, Eaker sent 309 Forts to targets in Norway: a chemical factory, a smelting plant, and a submarine installation. On the next day the Eighth teamed up with the RAF’s bomber command, and they hit Hamburg. The RAF sent out 791 heavy bombers. Two nights later a similar force struck again, causing a firestorm that reached twelve-hundred degrees centigrade, incinerating most of the old city. On the twenty-eighth, when the mission was scrambled, the men were tired and exhausted. The bombers had flown far beyond the range of P-47 escorts, and 88 Fortresses had been shot down.

  “Where we going this time, Sir?” Clint asked as the two pilots met them after the briefing.

  “We’re going into Oscherleben.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Only ninety miles southwest of Berlin. It’ll be a rough raid.”

  This was an understatement, for the Last Chance was riddled with machine-gun fire even before they reached the target.

  “Bombs away!” Moon Wilson cried. “Let’s get out of here!” He leaped to his guns, for the Messerschmitts were coming at them, swarming like angry bees.

  “Fighters at three o’clock! Fighters at three o’clock!”

  “Watch out; they’re on our tail! Watch out back there, Peabody!”

  “I see ’em, Lieutenant!”

  The plane rattled as the twin fifties fired at the fighter planes, and Clint followed the fleeing form of one until the tracers from his guns met, raking it from nose to tail. He watched as the plane burst into a fiery ball and exploded, and he muttered, “God have mercy on him.”

  “I’m hit! I’m hit!”

  “Who is it? Report!”

  “Frazier! They got me!”

  Since the sky was free of enemy aircraft, Clint dropped out of the top turret and stepped into the waist of the plane. Manny Columbo was bent over Frazier, who manned the other waist gun. Columbo’s eyes were stark with tragedy. “He’s hit bad, Clint!”

  Clint leaped at once to the fallen radio operator and asked, “Where’d they get you?”

  “In the belly—”

  Red was holding his hands against his stomach, but his flight jacket was already stained with bright crimson arterial blood. Frazier’s face was drained pale, and he reached out a bloody hand. “I-I ain’t going to make it, Clint!”

  Clint took the bloody hand, and he knew that it was hopeless. The life was draining out of the man. He had been hit by several heavy machine-gun bullets in the body, and no one could survive that. Clint held the bloody hand and bent closer to catch what Frazier said.

  “Good thing—we had that talk last week, ain’t it—”

  “You’ll be with Jesus, Red. Wait for me there; I’ll come someday.”

  For a moment, light gleamed in the eyes of the dying man. The pain racked him, and yet he managed a smile. He moved his other hand to take Clint’s and whispered so faintly that Clint had to put his ear to Red’s lips. The words he heard were, “I’ll wait for you—Clint.”

  Clint felt the body slump, and he turned and put the bloody hands over the chest, then turned to face Manny. “He’s gone, Manny.”

  Manny swallowed hard, “He-he was a good guy.”

  “He gave his heart to Jesus last week.”

  “Yeah, I know; he told me.” Manny Columbo was a hard man, but tears came to his eyes. “I’m glad about that, Clint—you done right.”

  The B-17 plowed home through heavy cloud cover. Clint went about his duties, but when the plane landed, he helped move the body of his friend. Adam came to stand over him. He said nothing, but there was grief in his face. It pained him that he had not really made contact with his crew. He watched as the body was carried away and thought, I wish I’d known him better; I wish I had.

  “I STILL LOVE YOU”

  As the airliner circled Los Angeles, brilliant sunlight flooded through the window temporarily blinding Wendy Stuart. Shutting her eyes quickly, she turned away; then as the plane banked for what seemed to be the final approach, she looked out again, studying the city. California was a land of sunshine and lived up to its reputation on this first day of July, 1943. Far off she saw the mountains rising with the desert lying below them.

  The wheels touched the runway with a definite whump, causing Wendy’s head to jerk; then she was thrown forward slightly as the brakes took hold, slowing the plane. Wheeling around with the propellers swirling, the plane taxied off the main runway, and Wendy watched with interest as it approached the low terminal that lay stretched beside the long white runway. As soon as the plane stopped and the stewardess announced, “You may move around now,” Wendy got up and retrieved her carry-on from the storage compartment overhead. Patiently she waited as the passengers gathered their luggage and filed off the airplane. As she moved down the steps, the sunlight again seemed to blind her, but she welcomed the warmth as the pale white sun soaked down into her bones. Moving across the cement, she entered the airport and looked around to find Mona approaching with a smile.

  “Wendy, I’m so glad to see you!” Mona was wearing a white dress with a purple scarf around her neck, and two large jade earrings swung as she moved forward. She looked every inch a Miss America, which was what she had almost been, with her glorious blonde beauty and classic calendar features. Throwing her arms around Wendy, she hugged her, then stepped back with her eyes shining. “Your plane was late. I was beginning to get worried about you!”

  “We got held up for a while in Nashville,” Wendy said. She felt dowdy and colorless next to this glorious young woman, but then she always had. There was something about Mona that made other women look this way, or seemed to, but this did not trouble Wendy. She was resigned to the young woman’s beauty, and as they walked along the baggage area, she listened as Mona spoke excitedly of what had been going on with the troupe.

  “You’re going to love the tour, Wendy!” Mona said, her enormous eyes flashing as she used her hands to make expressive gestures. A large, gold bracelet gleamed on her right wrist, and she wore several rings, all looking expensive and, to Wendy’s taste, a little garish. “It’s going to be the best troupe that’s ever been sent to the Pacific. I just can’t wait to leave—but of course, we’ve got to rehearse some first!”

  Wendy allowed herself to be caught up in Mona’s excitement. After they collected her larger bag, an attendant carried it outside of the terminal, where they got into a taxi. Wendy studied Los Angeles as they moved into the heart of the city and once interrupted Mona long enough to say, “Just think, I might look out and see Clark Gable.”

  Mona laughed and shook her head, making the jade earrings swing freely. “I doubt it! That’s what everyone comes to Hollywood to see. They think movie stars walk up and down every street—but the truth is most of them don’t.”

  “What is their native habitat? Where do they stay?”

  “On the sets mostly. I’ve been to several of them, and you wouldn’t believe how hard movie stars work. It’s a dog’s life really—getting up early, memorizing lines all day. They have to move from set to set, sometimes go on location.”

  Wendy teased Mona saying, “You wouldn’t do it for anything, would you?”

  Startled, Mona gave her cousin an incredulous glance, then seeing the smile on her lips laughed and said, “Well, you’ve got me there.
I guess I would—it’s exactly what I want to do, Wendy, and I think I’ve got a good gamble at it. I’ve got an agent now, you know. His name is Nick Chance. He’s been teaching me all sorts of things, and I’ve got an acting coach now, too. Of course, I won’t be taking any more lessons until we get back from the tour, but he says I’ve got as much talent as anybody in Hollywood.”

  Wendy listened indulgently as Mona spoke with enthusiasm about the Hollywood life but was thinking to herself, She’s got the bug! I’ve never seen her so taken with anything—but then she always did like the limelight. She thought of how Mona had been in countless plays in high school. Wendy was a little apprehensive about the whole thing. She knew a little about how hearts were broken every day—hearts of young women who came from all over the United States to Hollywood to become big stars only to discover that very few ever made it to the top. Most of them, Wendy was convinced, had unhappy, miserable lives and gave up normal living for the tinsel virtues that passed in Hollywood for a normal life.

  The taxi drew up, and Mona saw to getting the baggage inside and tipped the taxi driver. She said, “This is the Bellmont Hotel. It’s a really nice place, and all the troupe is staying here.”

  Wendy was somewhat apprehensive. “I didn’t bring much money,” she said. “I hope somebody is responsible for the hotel bill.”

  “Why, you silly thing, everything is paid for! All you’ll need is a little spending money—and none of that once we get to the Pacific. Come along; I’ll take you to your room.” She led Wendy to the elevators, and when they arrived at the third floor, moved down the hall until she came to room 308. Unlocking the door, she stepped aside and said, “Your boudoir awaits, Madam!”

  Wendy stepped inside, and her eyes opened wide. It was a luxurious suite—at least to her. The room contained a black-and-white striped couch in a modern style and a glass-topped cocktail table in an abstract shape. Chairs made out of black steel with orange-and-chartreuse cushions were scattered around the room. On the walls were abstract paintings that looked to Wendy like smears left where an artist cleaned his brush. “This is lovely,” she said, and walked over to the window and looked out where she could see, stretching far off, the fall that led to the ocean. She followed Mona to the bedroom, which was fairly large with two double beds. The bathroom was tiled with apricot-colored tiles, and the towels were lime green with a red-gold embroidered coat of arms that consisted of a lion with one paw raised. “That bathtub’s big enough to go swimming in,” Wendy remarked, staring at the large pink tub with awe.

  “Isn’t it wonderful!” Mona exclaimed. “You’re going to love it here—not that we have much time to spend in the hotel. We spend all day rehearsing. It’s really hard work.”

  “When will we be leaving, Mona?”

  “We have three days before we take off. You’re the last one of the troupe to come. Did you bring your music with you?”

  “Yes, but I’m a little bit worried. I’m not convinced that fighting marines will want to hear grand opera.”

  “From what I understand, they’ll be glad to hear anything from a pretty woman. They must be starved for the sight of girls.”

  Wendy could tell this was exactly the kind of situation that Mona loved. She herself was less than excited about that aspect of it. It had taken a great deal of adjustment in her thinking to make this tour, and she had spent much time praying that God would give her an opportunity to witness for Jesus Christ. This might not be acceptable, she was aware, to the rest of the troupe, but she had made up her mind that that was the reason that God had placed her with the group, and she was determined to speak out as well as she could for the Lord.

  “Why don’t you shower and change clothes, and we’ll get right over to the studio—if you’re not too tired, that is?”

  “Oh, yes, I’d like that.”

  “Good! I’ll go down and give you thirty minutes; then you’ll get your start as a USO girl.”

  “This is Monarch Studios, Wendy,” Mona said, waving her hand at the low-lying buildings that made up the scene where the taxi let them out. “Aunt Lylah and Uncle Jesse donated one of the studios for us to rehearse in.”

  “Have you talked with them much?”

  “Yes, we went out to dinner last night. They’re anxious to see you.”

  “What do they say about Adam?”

  Mona shook her golden hair in the sunshine and smiled at a couple of actors who walked by giving her a careful examination. “Oh, he’s a pilot in the air force.”

  “They must be terribly worried about him.”

  “Yes, they are, but they said maybe the troupe would go over to Europe and we’d get to see him, but I don’t think so. I think we’ll stay in the Pacific. Come on now, let’s go.”

  The young women entered the ugly boxlike building, and Wendy looked up to the high ceilings where steel and aluminum gridwork held enormous lights. On the floor were different sets, which looked odd to her, rooms with only three walls with cameras and lights banked outside the bare space. As she walked quickly to keep up with Mona, she saw that one set was half of an airplane. It had been apparently cut in two so that the cameras could move back and forth from the pilot’s station down to the seating sections. They were not shooting at the moment, and technicians were moving over it.

  “They’ll never get that one to fly again,” she remarked.

  “Oh, it never flew. They build those things from scratch. It’s wonderful what they do! Why, they build a whole house, Wendy, and then just burn it up if that’s what the script calls for. It’s so exciting! As soon as we get back from the tour, I’m going to get to be in a movie. You just wait and see! If I have to I’ll make Aunt Lylah let me play a part.”

  Wendy did not comment on this, for they had passed through a door into a large room with fifteen-foot ceilings. It was not as large as the other, and at one end a band was playing on a stage raised about two feet. The band members were not wearing dress jackets and looked rather scruffy, Wendy thought.

  “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everybody.” Wendy felt herself propelled into the group that seemed to be drawn from different walks of show business. Besides the ten band members, she met Danny Brothers, whom she had seen in a movie in a bit part. He was a comedian, and Mona said, “This is my cousin, Wendy Stuart.”

  “Hi, Wendy,” Brothers said. He was a small man with a fair complexion and an easy smile. “Glad to have you aboard. I’ll need to be talking with you so I’ll know what to tell the GI Joes about you.”

  “Come on, you can do that later,” Mona said. Quickly Mona pulled Wendy across the room to where a man and a woman were juggling. They were standing about ten feet apart and throwing what looked like bowling pins toward each other. The pins sailed through the air, revolving rapidly, so quickly that they were just a blur. Wendy studied the man and the woman, noting that they seemed to be Latin, Spanish perhaps. “That’s Carlos and Lolita; they’re jugglers.”

  “I can see that. What’s their last name?”

  “Oh, I forget, but they’re good, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, they are.” Wendy waited until the man adeptly plucked the pins out of the air; then the jugglers turned to face the young women. As they were introduced, Wendy saw that Carlos was a handsome enough fellow, but Lolita was a really beautiful young woman—dark complected with liquid black eyes and a sensuous mouth.

  “We’re glad to have you with us,” Carlos said with a Spanish accent. “My Lolita and I are honored to do this service for this great country, the United States. We are new citizens, you know.”

  “Well, congratulations. I know you are very happy.”

  “Oh, yes!” Lolita said. She ran her hand through her jet black hair and smiled languidly. “Now, we will go show the soldiers our appreciation.”

  “And what do you do, Miss Stuart?”

  “Oh, I sing a little.”

  “Sing a little,” Mona jeered. “She sings like no one you ever heard. You’ll love her! Now, come on,
there’s Rob over there. I know you’ve seen him.”

  As Mona tugged her across the floor, Wendy recognized Robert Bradley instantly. He was a tall man with light hair and blue eyes. She had seen him in several movies. He was never the main character but always the friend of the main character or the boyfriend who lost out in the fight over the girl. Still, he was the first movie star she had ever seen and when she was introduced she said, “I’ve enjoyed your movies very much, Mr. Bradley. You have a fine voice.”

  “Well, not as good as yours, from what I hear.” Rob Bradley cocked his head to one side and studied the young woman in front of him. There was an experience in his eyes that Wendy recognized at once. He’s known a great many women, she thought. As a movie star, I guess he would. Still, he seemed nice enough, and she said, “I particularly liked the role you did in Our Country. That was a nice movie.”

  “You liked it, did you?”

  “Oh, yes, and your singing was very good!”

  “Well, maybe we’ll get to do some duets together—not that I’m in your class, from what Mona tells me.” He turned to Mona and put his arm around her in a familiar manner. Looking down at her he said, “She says you’re better than Jeanette McDonald!”

  “You shouldn’t have said that, Mona,” Wendy protested.

  “Why not? It’s the truth!” Mona was looking up at Rob with something like adoration in her face. She did not seem to mind his familiarity. Indeed, she reached up and patted him on the cheek and said, “I can’t sing, but Rob’s working out a dance routine that we’re going to do together. Isn’t that super?”

  “That’s fine. I’ll be anxious to see it.”

  “Have you introduced Wendy to everybody?”

  “Oh, almost, except for Lori and Cathy. There they are over there! They’re acrobats and dancers, too, very good.”