Jack invited the girls into the officer’s mess while the mechanics prepped their Lend-Lease Airacobras for the transport flight across the Bering Strait to Russia.
The girls clearly expected more dancing and were disappointed to discover there was no jukebox in Nome. Jack flashed a smile and promised he’d order one for delivery—maybe next time they came it’d be there for them. In the meantime, he suggested a round of drinks and a game of cards.
The round of drinks turned into four and then five rounds of neat whiskey—for the men, anyway; the women would soon have to fly back, after all. And the game of cards turned into strip poker. At first the girls didn’t want to risk having to disrobe, so Jack upped the ante to make things more interesting. The losers didn’t just have to strip; they had to run out to the airfield and back in their underwear. The Russian girls thought it would be funny to watch the Americans shiver in the cold, so they agreed to the terms.
Wally was quickly reduced to his undershirt and boxer shorts—and that wolfish grin. Jack had already lost his jacket, his necktie, his shoes, and his socks. Next to go would be his shirt and trousers. Bobby was only a little better off than Jack, having retained his socks and necktie. The girls had lost their boots and their hats and their jackets, and Jack’s favorite girl, a plump twenty-three-year-old named Bel, had also lost her belt.
To make matters worse, Jack had raised the current bet to two articles of clothing, and it was time to lay down the cards. One more loss would see Wally running to the airfield in bare feet through the cold.
Bel eyed Jack. “You nice legs? I hope,” she teased, then laid down two pairs: fives and kings.
“And I hope you’re wearing a clean bra,” Jack retorted with a grin, laying down a set: three tens.
That left Bobby out in the cold. He had only a pair of aces. He folded with a groan and drained his whiskey. The two other girls, Katia and Lenka, folded.
But Wally stood in triumph. “Read ’em and weep!” he announced, dropping a full house. Delirious with joy that he’d finally won a hand, he gestured at the entire room, chanting, “Take! It! Off!”
Jack hammed it up, pushing back his chair and raising his leg like a choir girl, his bare foot resting on the table. “Tra ra ra boom de-yay,” he sang, mimicking a well-known cancan while he pulled off his pants as if rolling down a pair of silk stockings.
The girls laughed at the show and joined his song. “Tra ra ra boom de-yay!”
Jack stood on the chair and swung his pants around his head, letting go so that they flew across the table and landed on Bel’s shoulder. He then swiveled his hips as he unbuttoned his shirt. But before he finished, he pointed at the girl. “You, too!”
Bel laughed and stood on her chair. While everyone sang, she and Jack unbuttoned together. When they were finished, they wiggled out of their shirts and threw them at each other, wearing only undershirt and bra, respectively.
Suddenly a cold draft hit them as the officer’s mess door swung open, bringing sunlight with it. “What the hell is going on in here?”
Everyone spun toward the door, where Colonel Harris stood, fully dressed, aghast at the scene before him. Colonel Harris was Major Bovington’s replacement, and the men hadn’t yet gotten to know or to trust him.
“Just a little recreation, sir,” Jack answered, managing not to slur his words.
“Looks like a damned whorehouse,” the colonel growled in outrage.
“I wouldn’t know, sir,” Jack replied, slyly turning the accusation back on the colonel.
The colonel flushed red. “Just get your damned clothes on and report to HQ.” He turned on his heels and marched back out into the cold.
Jack frowned at Bel and shrugged. “Sorry, beautiful. Duty calls.”
Bel frowned back at him.
Colonel Harris’s office was ice-cold. He even had a fan on. But Bobby was hot anyway, from the liquor. When he, Wally, and Jack entered, Colonel Harris made them stand at attention before him.
“Do you know why we’re here?” he asked, pacing back and forth in front of his desk, a scowl etched on his face.
“Lend-Lease,” Wally replied. “Helping to give the Russians airplanes.”
“Funny, and here I thought we were supposed to be fighting the Japs and the Krauts,” the colonel growled.
“With all due respect, sir, so did I,” Jack agreed.
With his talk of fighting, the colonel was fast gaining their respect.
“So I bet you’re wondering why we’re cooling our heels here, out in the middle of nowhere instead of down south helping 11th Air Force kick the Japs out of the Aleutian Islands?”
“I’ll admit I had that thought,” Jack said.
“We all did,” Wally added.
The colonel turned his appraising eye on Bobby.
“What about you?”
“I know why we’re here,” Bobby admitted. “It’s not to give the Russians airplanes, and it never was.”
The colonel nodded, keeping his eyes on Bobby. “So why don’t you tell your friends?”
Wally and Jack both gawked at Bobby. They had no idea of the true, secret mission they were supposed to be on. Bobby took a deep breath and laid it out for them: how the army was afraid Russia would lose the war, how they didn’t want Russian oil and industry to fall into German hands, and how they were using Lend-Lease as a pretext to scout out potential bombing routes.
The fact that he was drunk made it easier. He was ashamed to have kept it from them this long, and he was relieved, finally, to be letting the cat out of the bag.
The colonel nodded with satisfaction. “They warned me you were smart.” He turned to Jack and Wally. “So you see, our mission in Nome is a helluva lot more important than kicking the Japanese out of some islands nobody really wants anyway.”
He let that settle in for a moment, holding the silence.
“But sir,” Bobby began, then stopped.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
Bobby wanted to continue. The trouble was, the room was spinning. He took another deep breath and steadied himself. “I thought that mission was scrubbed, on account of the Russians insisting on flying the planes themselves.”
“It wasn’t scrubbed,” the colonel said, “just put on ice.” He looked over the assembled pilots. “Believe it or not, you three are among the most experienced pilots we have. Navy’s been in a few scraps, but we’ve mostly been sitting on the sidelines. Didn’t it ever occur to you how strange it is to ground three experienced army pilots in northern Alaska?”
“Of course it did, sir,” Jack offered.
“We were waiting. Hoping that our time would come. And guess what? It’s come.”
“How so, sir?”
“Russians want a summit. A face-to-face with General Marshall. Of course the Russians can’t leave the USSR, seeing as they’re fighting for their lives. Which means they want the general to come to them.” The colonel smiled and leaned back in his chair. “We agreed.”
Like Jack, Bobby was even beginning to like the colonel. Because he immediately caught on to what the colonel was implying. He might be drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. “Under the condition that we fly the general there?”
“Of course. We can’t entrust the safety of one of our most important generals to Soviet pilots, can we?”