“There is no hurry, you have a party to attend first, Tovarish Senior Lieutenant.” The General was beaming at him and Knyaz closed his eyes to imagine himself with his new insignia. And his extra pay. That thought made him wonder. Have I been around Americans too much?
As if to confirm his belief, there was a deafening whistle from the approaching train. Curly edged into the marshalling yard, surrounded by cheering troops. They ran alongside the lines to welcome the gun back home. The General looked at the railway gun and shook his head. “You can’t keep it you know.”
Knyaz tried to look shocked. “Tovarish General, it is not our fault. He just followed us home.”
EPILOGUE
The rumble of the nose doors opening and the whine as the engines behind the wings spooled down were so familiar to Major Dedmon that he hardly noticed them. Around Arctic Express, tracks would be gathering to remove the cargo. It was mostly 20mm Shvak and 23mm V-YA cannon for aircraft. Built in Russian factories, the guns were reverse lend-lease. Their value was charged as a payment against Russia’s account. Even in a world war, the accountants had to be kept happy. Around him, the flight deck crew finished their shutdown checks. Dedmon signed the chit that handed his aircraft over to its ground crew. That also was routine. He would leave his aircraft in their hands and they’d look after her before the next long haul to Russia.
Inside the terminal, Dedmon’s crew, as usual, started to go their separate ways. This time, however, they were stopped by Colonel Sutherland. “You men, a moment please. I’m pleased to inform you that your tour of duty on the Air Bridge has been completed. I have your new assignments here. Some of you are going to the Pacific Coast to fly with the C-99 flights to Hawaii and Australia. Others will be going to other bases in the Zone of the Interior for other air transport duties.” He handed out envelopes.
“You’re breaking my crew up?” Dedmon was upset at the idea.
“I’m afraid so Bob. Needs must when the devil drives I’m afraid. There’s too much expertise here to keep in one group. It needs to be shared out. You’d better hurry by the way. There’s a C-69 Connie leaving in two hours. One of the seats has your name on it.”
“Very good Sir.” Dedmon went off to say his farewells to the crew that had been with him for nearly a year. If he moved fast, he would just have time for a quick wash, climb into a new uniform and collect up his property. Behind him Colonel Sutherland watched with a degree of sadness. It was hard to play the genial old man, put out to grass in a backwater assignment, while watching these young men and deciding when they were ready to go on to bigger and deadlier things. The crew of Arctic Express, formed a group, shaking hands and slapping backs. Doubtless they were promising to keep in touch. Those promises would almost certainly never be kept. Then, they finally went their separate ways.
“Hi Sir, I think we’re going to be neighbors for the next few hours.” The young Captain managed to combine the right amount of respect for Dedmon’s rank with friendliness and the camaraderie of pilots. Dedmon found himself instantly liking the man.
“Looks like it. I’m Bob Dedmon. Been flying C-99s for the last year or so.”
“Andras Pico, co-pilot on C-99s for about the same length of time. My bird was Snow Queen”
“Arctic Express. The flight roster says we’re heading for Fort Worth. That’s Texas. My home state.”
“Colorado is home for me. You get your bag lunch?”
Dedmon held up the brown paper bag he had been given. He’d already looked, it contained a cheese sandwich, a ham sandwich, an apple and a bottle of something labeled ‘orange juice’ although it didn’t look like any juice Dedmon had ever seen before.
“Excuse me, Sirs, do we have to sign in? I’ve never ridden one of these before.”
An Airman was looking down at the two men. Pico returned the gaze. “You reported at the desk? And they gave you a seat number?”
“Sir, yes sir.”
“That’s fine then. Just find your seat and strap in. What’s your name son?”
“Martin Sir. John Paul Martin.” The airman looked around and suddenly realized he had been standing right next to his assigned seat. He smiled sheepishly and sat down, nearly dropping his bag lunch in the process. “I’ve been a tail gunner on B-29s for the last six months.”
Dedmon and Pico nodded respectfully. The B-29 crews had taken a ferocious battering. This young airman was lucky to be alive. Dedmon asked the inevitable question. “Many missions?”
“Not combat, no, Sir. Mostly training flights and ELINT missions around Japan. Saw quite a few Japanese fighters, mostly Army Ingas and Gails. A few Navy Zeros but we kept out of their way. I got lucky I guess. Never fired my guns.”
Pico and Dedmon exchanged glances. Some airmen, speaking to officers informally like this, would have exaggerated their experience to gain favor. This young man was above that. They approved.
“Gentlemen, we are about to take off. Please ensure you are strapped in securely. In the event of this aircraft crashing, remember to eat your bag lunches before impact, we are not allowed to waste food.” A groan went around the passenger cabin, the joke was an old one. “Personnel facilities are in the rear of the aircraft. We have no female passengers today so use of those facilities is unrestricted.”
Pico smiled. “Did I ever tell you about the time we flew a group of Army nurses out? Hit bad turbulence, one of those times when a storm cut in and we didn’t expect it. We were bouncing all over the place. Everybody on board was airsick but those nurses got to work, passing out sick bags. They cleaned up after the ones who lost it, as cool as you like. Then, when we’re out of it, one of them throws a hissy-fit because somebody had left the seat in the latrine up.”
The flight down had taken six hours, most of which Dedmon had spent asleep. His companions had been considerate enough not to wake him, another point which had won them favor in his eyes. After landing, they had been herded into Air Force busses that had taken them for another two hour drive. Finally, their transport had pulled into a reception area that was indoors and lacked windows. The busses had dropped them and pulled out. A harassed-looking man with a clipboard had met them and taken them under his wing.
“I’m Colonel Lane. The General will speak to you in a few minutes. If you just come with me please.”
He’d led them into a large briefing room, one without seats. Several additional groups of men arrived. Then an uneasy hush fell over the room. A stocky figure with a grim expression frozen on his face stepped out and stood behind the podium. A stir went around the room as the audience recognized General Curtis LeMay. They’d expected his voice to be a roar but in fact it was quiet, hard to hear.
“Gentlemen, you have been gathered here for the most important mission the USAF has ever flown. In addition, it is the most secret mission we have ever contemplated. There is a rule here you must never forget. What you see here, what you learn here, what you think here, must stay here. You must never, never breathe a word about your work to anybody. If you do, you will be in a military prison for so long you will forget what daylight looks like. Many people know parts of the story but very few know it all. If somebody uses a part of the story to persuade you to tell them the rest, you will terminate the conversation immediately and report the meeting to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. They will take it from there.