Bron-40

Continued from Chapter 39: Bron-39 | ABCtales

“Might I ask, what exactly are you looking for, Mr Barnes?” said Mary Hinds, more than a little peevishly. So far, her visitor had looked under the bed, behind the bedside cabinet, pulled up the edges of the carpet and even tried to lift up the end of her mattress before Mary’s angry intervention persuaded him to desist.

“Bugs,” said Steve. “You can’t be too careful.”

“Bed bugs? I’ll have you know, this is a respectable establishment. Aint no bugs here – specially with the fees they charge. And anyways, Fernandez cleans out the place from top to bottom, under my personal supervision…”

“Not bed bugs. Devices.”

“Devices?”

“You know. Devices to listen to conversations.”

“Why the hy-ull would anyone want to listen to the rubbish people say in this here place? I mean, if anyone’s prepared to listen to my sister Ginnie burbling on about the church committee, and what Mrs Jones said to her at the last school board meeting…”

“They may have planted them. Because of what I’m about to tell you.”

“Well, they must have been pretty slick – I’ve hardly stirred from this here bed, cept to visit the can. But anyways, nobody KNOWS what you’re gonna tell me. Least of all me.”

“They might have intercepted our emails.”

“Who’s THEY?”

“The FBI, CIA, MFI…”

“What in God’s name the MFI?”

“Military Forces Institute… Military Federation … well, maybe not them. But the FBI and CIA certainly.”

“And the KGB?”

“Most certainly. Anything’s possible these days.”

“Well, Mr Barnes. Can I suggest you stop pacing up and down like a caged lion, sit down in that chay-ur and tell me what it is you drove two thousand miles to tell me.”

“Yes, sure.” Steve levered his stocky frame into the light blue vinyl armchair. He pulled the visor of his Peoria Chiefs cap down over his eyes, hitched up his blue jeans and leaned forward, the palms of his large hands flat on each knee.

“You know, I mentioned in my email that I served on the US carrier Bravoure, in nineteen-forty-fr-rr—rr-rr-uh.”

“Sorry, I can’t understand. In nineteen forty WHAT?”

“Don’t want to say it out loud, just in case of ..”

“Yeah, yeah … in case the FBI and the CIA and the KGB are all listening in …”

“Anyways, date’s not important. I was on the Bravoure, about three months before you arrived …”

“Were you a pilot too?”

“My role was more below-decks.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Laundryman.”

“Laundryman!”

“Yes. That’s right. But I heard stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“About Roxy’s Raiders – or was it Hawkins’ Hellcats? The first all-female fighter squadron.”

“Go on.”

“Whole ship was talkin’ about it. They were goin’ to draft in a whole bunch of lady pilots. They had, I dunno, a dozen, maybe more lined up, all ready to give the Japs hell.”

“A dozen? Far as I know, I was the only female. Leastways, never come across a single fighter pilot when I was training. Transport pilots, yes – but not fighters.”

“Some of the top brass were none too happy about it, but others, like Hawkins, they were dead keen. Proggo-ganda. Something for the newsreels. Gotta remember, the Pacific War was going so smooth at that stage. Figured it would be a morale-booster.”

“So where were all these lady fighter aces? Did Major General Hawkins have a stash of them?”

“Well, funny you should say that, but, yeah, he did in a way. Or he mighta done…”

“Like how?”

“One of the other stories goin’ round was that the Hellcats were nothin’ more than Hawkins own private, private … what’s those things the Ay-rabs have?”

“A har -eem?”

“Yeah! That’s it - Hawkins’ Hareem. His own private stash of purty female pilots, jus’ waitin’ to fulfil his every command.”

“Well, Major Hawkins never invited ME up to his private boudoir, Maybe I just weren’t purty enough … “

“Could be … “

“You’re not supposed to say that!”

“Sorry. Maybe it was just chance. Right place at the right time…”

“Or the wrong place at the right time, dependin’ how you look at it…”

 

Mary glanced down at the computer screen; notification of a new email. She’d have a look when Steve Barnes had gone. Then, she broke the silence:

“What happened to Hawkins?”

“Don’t know. Not sure anyone knows. He kinda got…expunged from the record.”

“And what about Roxy’s Raiders - the Hellcats?”

“Same thing. Vanished without a trace. If they ever existed.”

“So that left just li’l ole me, out there on the Bravoure, all on my lonesome. I guess I was kinda…inconvenient to the top brass.”

“But you didn’t know anything! You said yourself that this Hawkins guy never set his sights on you…”

“But they didn’t KNOW that I didn’t know anything. For all they knew, I was one of the Hellcats, ready to spill the beans about the goings-on in the top airforce command. And the other lady pilots, if they’d been humping Hawkins, they probably weren’t going to say anything, nothin’ public, anyways. Us ladies had to keep up our reputations – different times.

“But I, I was much more high profile. I was gettin’ a bit of a following; I had my picture in Life. So if I flew away on a mission, and never came back, it’d be VERY handy for a whole bunch of people…”

To be continued in Chapter 41