by R. R. Irvine
At the head of the flight deck, one of the B-25s started its engines.
The colonel shouted over the howl of the Wright Cyclone engines. “You’re out of time.”
With a look of pure frustration the pilot turned and lifted himself into the plane. Johns followed him to the cockpit.
Watson gave him a questioning glance before scanning the orders. Johns knew that they had been signed by Colonel Jimmy Doolittle himself.
“What’s going on?” the copilot asked.
“I’m Johns, the new navigator.”
“Lou Pappas.” The pilot motioned to the copilot. “Read this,” he said and gave Pappas the papers.
“Holy cow!” Pappas whistled. “So that’s why we’re carrying extra gasoline instead of bombs.”
While Pappas continued to read, Watson slid open the Plexiglas window by his side. The damp, cold air from the forty-knot gale howling outside the cockpit sent a chill through Johns.
“It’s bad luck to break up a crew,” the pilot said. “Don’t tell me this storm isn’t bad luck.”
“I think we make our own luck,” Johns replied.
Pappas started to say something, but Watson silenced him. “You’d better get into position,” he told Johns. “It’s time to go.”
Johns climbed back into the navigator’s seat and waited.
When their turn came, the B-25 lifted off easily. They had chosen a good pilot for him, Johns thought. According to specs, a fully loaded B-25 needed a long runway. They had had to make do with a little more than five hundred feet. Johns had felt no loss of altitude as they had cleared the deck, though he’d seen some of the planes dipping close to the sea before managing to climb away.
As soon as the B-25 was trimmed, he grabbed the intercom mike. What he had to say was going to make the skipper even more unhappy. “Permission to come forward,” he said, and didn’t wait for a reply.
CHAPTER 16
By morning Nick felt mildewed, and she was afraid she smelled worse. Everything inside her tent was damp. The humidity had puckered her skin, especially her fingers, which looked as if they’d been washing dishes nonstop for days. Her face and neck itched from bug bites, and the rest of her didn’t feel much better.
To make matters worse, she heard sloshing footsteps approaching the outside of her tent. From the sound of them, the mud had to be six inches deep.
“Good morning,” Buettner announced.
She groaned. How could the man be so damned cheerful so early?
“Come on, Nick,” he shouted. “Get up. The sun’s out. It’s a beautiful day, and it’s time for sunrise services.”
Unzipping her tent, she peered outside. The night rain had turned their campsite into a quagmire. Mud was steaming in the sunlight. But that was only secondary to the sight in front of her. Just as Buettner had said, services were being held in the village square. A platoon of village men, carrying sticks of bamboo-like rifles, were marching in military precision. They were led by Chief Jeban, who brought them to a stop in front of the flagpole that Nick had seen from the air. Each man in the ranks had the letters USA painted on their chests in red.
“Present arms,” Jeban ordered, sounding like a drill sergeant.
The bamboo rifles snapped into position.
“Flag orderlies step forward,” Jeban barked.
Two men broke ranks, one of them carrying what looked like a folded flag, and quick-timed to the flagpole.
“What do you think?” Buettner asked quietly. “They had to copy that from the military, if I’m any judge.”
Nick nodded her agreement. “Just like their planes.”
Jeban, who wasn’t carrying a rifle, saluted as the orderlies raised the American flag.
“The question is,” Nick said, “whose military did they copy originally, ours or the Japanese? The „USA’ on their chests could be grafted onto an earlier tradition.”
Buettner snorted. “My guess is, they were raising the rising sun during the occupation.”
“Possibly,” Nick replied, “but they probably weren’t getting much cargo from the Japanese.”
Once the flag was tied into position, the platoon marched away, disappearing behind one of the communal buildings. Such ceremonies weren’t unique to Balesin, Nick knew from scanning Sam Ohmura’s book.
With a groan, she struggled out of her sleeping bag and pulled on her jeans. But when she tried to slip into her suede desert boots, it was a painful tug-of-war. Her feet had swollen during the night. Making matters worse, the suede was still damp and smelled like wet animal fur.
“My feet are like balloons. I need some sandals like the villagers wear,” she announced, though God knew what the mosquitoes would do to her naked toes.
“Tell me about it,” Buettner shot back. “They don’t need human cannibals here. It’s the bugs that eat you alive.”
Once Nick had her boots on, she crawled outside, getting muddy in the process. On top of everything else, the sun was blinding, and so were the attacking mosquitoes.
“You should have warned me about the place,” she said, longing for Berkeley’s fog.
“It was dry the first time your father and I landed here.” Buettner ducked his head. “But you’re right. I seem to have miscalculated our needs.”
Nick pointed a condemning finger at the communal meeting houses across the square. “Don’t you notice something, Curt. Those houses are built on stilts. Why would that be, do you think? Maybe because this whole area is a swamp, except around the flagpole.”
“Maybe it won’t rain again.”
Nick shook her head. “That’s wishful thinking and you know it. We’ve got to get off the ground. To do that, we need a house of our own.”
“You heard what Lily said last night. They have to hold a town meeting first before committing to something like that.”
“Are you listening to me, Curt? I say we buy ourselves a house if we have to. Otherwise, we’re going to be too miserable to get any decent work done.”
“Nick, I—” He broke off to scratch his scalp.
She dug out her soggy Cubs cap, pulled it on, and adjusted the brim to get the sun out of her eyes. For the first time that morning she got a good look at Buettner. Lines etched his swollen face. Gray stubble covered his chin and cheeks. Yesterday his eyes had burned with youthful enthusiasm; today he reminded Nick of an old dog with cataracts.
“Don’t listen to me,” she said, relenting. “I’m always grumpy first thing in the morning.”
“What you both need is a bath,” Elliot said as he came up behind them unnoticed.
Nick blinked in disbelief. Somehow her father looked as cool and refreshed as always. His khaki shorts had a crease and his open sandals looked new. He appeared to be totally unconcerned about the swarming mosquitoes. With him was Chief Jim Jeban, who was also wearing the ubiquitous sandals of Balesin. When Elliot saw Nick admiring his sandals, he winked, wiggled his toes, and sighed contentedly.
Nick glared.
Buettner said, “Where the hell have you been, Elliot?”
Instead of answering, Elliot resorted to one of his enigmatic smiles, which momentarily infuriated Nick. Then she caught herself. Fury would have been her mother’s reaction.
Taking a deep breath, she smiled coyly and said, “You know the rules, Elliot. The first one up in the morning makes the coffee.”
He returned her smile with a wink. “It’s already done.”
Another deep breath revealed the subtle aroma of coffee. Only then did she see the propane stove set up outside their supply tent.
“And the bath?” she asked, since they’d yet to fill the canvas holding tanks in their shower tent.
“I’ve had mine, thanks,” Elliot said.
“In the river, I suppose.”
Jeban held up a restraining hand. “We wash in the sea, not the Malakal River.”
“Sorry.” Nick should have known better. Unlike modern man, primitive peoples usually knew better than to pollute their
source of drinking water.
“How was the water?” Buettner asked.
“Not a shark in sight,” Elliot said.
“It is wise to watch for them,” Jeban said, nodding his head. “Usually, they don’t come near the mouth of the river. But there are other places . . .” He turned to gaze toward the eastern side of the island. “. . . that are very dangerous and not to be attempted.”
“Where exactly?” Nick asked.
Jeban shrugged. “Who’s to say with certainty? Sharks swim where they want, but I have seen them often in the channel that separates our island from Balabat. There, men have died. There, the water has run red with blood. It is one of John Frum’s forbidden places.”
“We’ll remember that,” Nick said, turning away from the chief to stare daggers at her father. “Now, Elliot, if you don’t mind, tell us where you got those sandals.”
“They’re imported, I’m told, and can be purchased at the store on the other side of the island.”
“Are you telling us that you’ve been there and back already?”
“The chief had an extra pair which he loaned me. In return, I’ve invited him to join us for coffee.”
Once they’d settled around the stove, Elliot had a hard time keeping a straight face. Finally, one of his annoying smiles broke free.
No, strike that, Nick thought. It wasn’t a smile exactly, but more of a smirk. It was the kind of look he got when astounding students with his expertise. It was also the kind of look that would have sent Elaine into one of her moods.
Elliot improved on the smirk by adding one of his annoying eyebrow wiggles.
“You’re up to something,” Nick said.
“Me?” he replied innocently.
She fumed and pretended to concentrate on her coffee. As usual, it was laced with canned milk and sugar, and delicious. It had been a staple of her father’s field expeditions for as long as she could remember, and was a treat Nick had come to enjoy. At the moment, though, she wanted to throttle him. No, she thought, throttling would have to wait until she’d had a bath, sharks or no sharks. In the water at least, the mosquitoes wouldn’t be able to get at her more tender parts.
“Well, daughter?” Elliot said, breaking the silence. “I haven’t lost my touch, have I? Wouldn’t you say this coffee is pure ambrosia?”
“All right, Elliot. You win. I surrender. What is it you’re dying to tell us?”
“Me?” He poked himself in the chest. “Daughter, you misjudge me. It’s Chief Jeban who has an announcement. We’re to have a house.”
“Thank God,” Nick said. “When?”
“It will have to be built,” Jeban said. “Of course, a site must be selected, and other such matters taken into careful consideration.”
How long would that take? she wondered. A few more nights in that steaming tent and she’d turn into a prune. Or be bled dry by ravenous mosquitoes.
“Naturally, there are rituals to be observed,” Elliot said, glancing at the chief. “Suffice it to say, daughter, while you and Curt have been sleeping I’ve been negotiating. Now let’s get on the radio. I’ve promised more cargo in exchange for some quick work on our future abode.”
As soon as Buettner entered the tent and began throwing switches, Nick crossed her fingers. Static crackled from the speaker as her mind raced, calculating the number of things that could go wrong even with a strong radio signal. She’d reached four—sunspots, storms, satellite failure, and Coltrane asleep at his end—when Coltrane answered. “I read you five-by-five,” he said. “Over.”
Nick sagged with relief.
“We need more supplies,” Buettner told him.
“Already?” Coltrane answered. “Are you all right?”
“We will be when you get here.”
“Has there been trouble?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I picked up a transmission on my flight back yesterday,” Coltrane replied. “There was talk about scientists and open channels. I thought it might have come from Balesin.”
Buettner looked around. Nick shrugged and so did her father. Jeban didn’t react at all.
“There’s nothing wrong here,” Buettner transmitted, “except we need more cargo. How soon can you load up?”
“I’m airborne already. When I didn’t hear from you at first light, I decided to take off.”
“And my students, Tracy and Axelrad?”
“They’re with me.”
Buettner looked at Nick and shook his head. “You’re going to have to make another quick trip, then. We’re exchanging cargo for some better living quarters.”
“What is it you need exactly?” Coltrane asked.
“Hold on a minute.” Buettner turned to Jeban for guidance.
“Cargo is always in John Frum’s hands,” the chief said. “It is He who decides our fate. But Lily has long wished for a generator to light up the night. Her eyes aren’t getting any younger, you know, and she finds it difficult to work by lantern light these days.” His weak smile said his eyes could use the help too. “And fuel to run the generator would be appreciated also.”
Buettner relayed the request.
“That’s okay by me,” Coltrane replied. “As soon as I drop off your students, I’ll return to Guam and see what I can do.”
“Frank Axelrad has the credit card we use to refuel the yacht. You can charge whatever you need on it.”
“Maybe we should turn around and send him back now,” Nick said. Anything was better than spending more time in the tents.
“Have you reached the halfway point?” Buettner asked.
“Absolutely,” Coltrane answered. “I’ve got my throttles wide open.”
Nodding, Buettner turned his most imploring smile on Jeban. “What about it, Chief? Shall I send him all the way back to Guam or keep him coming with my students?”
Jeban fingered his lower lip. “John Frum has been waiting a long time for a light to see his way. Lily, too, for that matter. For both their sakes a light is very important. But for your sake . . .” He bowed at Nick. “. . . we will begin construction today and trust you to secure our sacred cargo soon after.”
Nick felt like hugging him but held back for fear of breaking some sexual taboo. Instead, she settled for a handshake.
“Thank you, Chief,” she said. “We’re in your debt.”
“Talk to me,” Coltrane said over the radio. “Am I coming or going?”
“Keep coming,” Buettner told him. “You can pick up the generator on your next trip.”
“Roger. Out.”
Nick smiled at Jeban. “Chief, how soon will we be in our new home?”
Jeban thought for a moment, pulling at his lip again. “I will ask everyone in the village to help. That way you should be able to move in before dark.”
“It sounds like an old-fashioned barn raising,” Elliot said.
“We’re going to need geckos too,” Nick said, thinking an army of them would be needed to cope with the bugs that had invaded her tent last night. But a new house, with the freshly thatched roof, probably wouldn’t come equipped with bug-eating wildlife.
“You will have what you need,” the chief said.
With a satisfied sigh, Nick removed her cap and ran her fingers through her sweat-matted hair.
A look of disappointment sagged the corners of Jeban’s mouth.
“I think he was expecting your curls,” Elliot said.
Jeban rolled his eyes but didn’t contradict him.
“They’ll be back soon enough,” she said. “Right now, though, I feel like shaving my head.”
The chief’s jaw dropped open. He looked truly appalled. bath.” “Don’t pay any attention to her,” Elliot said. “She’ll feel better when she’s had a
“What I need is a cold shower,” Nick said.
Elliot wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think it can wait that long. Besides, we haven’t stocked the shower’s holding tank yet.”
Nick laughed. He was right, of cour
se. She smelled like an old gym sock. “Why is it, Elliot, that you look so damned chipper?”
“That’s easy, daughter. I saw Lily this morning. She gave me something to give you for the bugs. Since I didn’t want to take any chances with your delicate skin without testing it, I tried some of the stuff on me first. It seems to work.”
“How does it smell?”
“Better than you two do, that’s for sure.”
“I’ll get the soap,” Buettner said.
By the time they reached the beach, half the village was there ahead of them.
“This has to be the chief’s doing,” Nick said. “Nobody else knew we were coming.”
“I don’t see him,” Buettner said.
“Look again,” Elliot replied, pointing beyond the line of villagers. “Here he comes with Henry Yali.”
The pair of them, walking side by side, were emerging from the trees. They quickly passed through an opening in the ranks of villagers and headed straight for Nick. But they stopped twenty-five yards short. The moment they did, the rest of the villagers took up positions right behind them. Then, almost as one, they sat cross-legged on the white sand, and leaned forward expectantly, reminding Nick of the gallery at a tennis match.
“I was hoping for some privacy,” she announced loudly.
“Since red appears to be John Frum’s color,” Elliot told her, “I think they want to make sure your hair color is real, if you take my meaning.”
Buettner grinned. “Frum be praised.”
“They’re going to be disappointed, then,” Nick said. “I’m keeping my underwear on.”
“I’d advise against it,” Elliot said.
“Me too,” Buettner added, ogling her for effect.
“Some uncle you turned out to be,” she said.
Elliot intervened. “I think what Curt’s trying to say is that your red hair is not only a rarity on Balesin, it has religious implications. So chances are Yali and his followers are going to be hounding you until they’re satisfied.”
“Besides,” Buettner added, “if the chief likes what he sees, he might make an offer for you. With any luck, he’ll swap us a house that’s already built.”
