Valuable Commodities

Orders Out

We didn’t think it was going to be our last reconnaissance mission, but that’s how it ended up.

We had been flying together for more than a year by then, our little anomaly in the greater pattern of the world. I was a U. S. naval officer, a naval aviator, flying in a Marine squadron in the Philippines, what was an almost exclusively Army domain. Since we answered to a Navy command, the U. S. Asiatic Fleet, we did some crazy things, but then, in those days just before the war started in the Far East, everything was a little crazy. Everyone was tense and jumpy, knowing the Japs were on the warpath, and wondering when the shooting would start.

On that morning, it was 6 January, 1942, the war was then just a month old, and we had done a lot of scrambling to stay ahead of the enemy, and lost some of our guys in the process, but had been ordered south to the Army’s make-shift field at Del Monte, on Mindanao. There were just four of us there, all that were left: ONE, FOUR, FIVE, and TEN. We were flying Martin 167 Maryland light bombers, and we just called then by their number. The Major in ONE with FIVE and TEN were to depart for the Dutch field at Laha, on Ambon Island in the Netherlands East Indies to work with the Australians and the U. S. Navy’s Patrol Wing TEN basing there. My assignment, that is, my crew’s assignment, Number FOUR’s, was to make a recon of the Jap positions at Davao and then Jolo Island, recover at Tarakan in Dutch Borneo, and report to the Dutch commander there what we found, since the enemy at Jolo clearly threatened that position.

We were off at the crack of dawn.

There were so many Japanese ships in the bay off Davao and at Malalag that we were counting groups rather than singles. It was incredible… there were easily sixty ships there, probably a dozen warship or more, the rest of them transports and freighters. No doubt about it. Japan was serious about invasion. There was no question in my mind at all. The Philippines were lost unless the Pacific Fleet arrived very quickly, and with lots of muscle.

We made altogether three passes over the harbor, medium altitude, about five thousand feet, so Sergeant Mulvane in the nose could get a good count. I told Corporal Tracy back aft in his radio compartment that I was depending on him to watch for Jap fighters. He had a single .30 caliber Browning, but his eyes were our best defense. The Martin 167 was a fast aircraft for its day, we could break 260 knots in level flight, twice what the Navy boys could do in their dawdling PBY flying boats, so in my mind our speed was our best defense. Oh, the Zero could catch us all right, but the Jap fighter pilot had to be very serious about it and willing to commit to a long chase, and we banked on them loosing us then in the clouds.

Anyway, that day was a lucky day for us. Tracy saw patrolling fighters high above us, but they didn’t see us. Ha, Ha… too bad. We made our passes, counting noses, gathering our intelligence, and beat feet outta there while thanking our lucky stars.

Will put together the report. That’s Sergeant Mulvane. His first name was William, went by just Will. Like I said, we’d been flying together for more than, well, a year, yea, it was a year. So things were kinda informal, though officially he always called me Lieutenant Shepherd. The third crew member was our radioman, Corporal Richard Tracy, USMC, a young kid from Florida, but a sharp Marine and a very good radio operator.

We were headed west over the southern Mindanao highlands and about the time we hit the Sulu Sea, steering for Jolo, Tracy told me that he had a response from NPO, the Navy radio station on Corregidor, up north near Manila, and that they had rogered for our sighting report and would then route it onward to various commands.

Jolo was simple, and a single pass over the anchorage told us all we needed to know. More Japanese ships, several transports and a pair of destroyers. That kept Tracy busy for a while, and Will gave me the heading for the Dutch field at Tarakan, and we scooted to get clear of the enemy. We didn’t see any fighters at all, but knew they were there, somewhere. Before too much longer Tracy told me he had Tarakan Ops on the circuit and we were cleared to come in. By 1130 we were on the field and a truck led us to a secluded grassy part of the apron under a big tree and I shut’em down for a break. Sergeant Mulvane gave me his chart with out track plot, Tracy his copy of our reports, and I jumped aboard the truck for Ops. Will would see to the fueling and servicing, and we passed the fuel bowser on the way to Ops.

I recognized the Indonesian fellow driving the truck. I hadn’t been in Tarakan since mid-November, but he remembered me, too. He was a sharp cookie, spoke excellent Dutch and pretty fair English, as well. I took a chance and asked him about Annaliese, knowing that fellows like that in small communities kept up on the developments all around. I was glad I asked. He told me straight out that she worked now in the headquarters building in the commander’s office, and that she hadn’t hardly spoken to a man since she had seen me last time I was there. He wished me good luck, with, what sounded to me like an Australian accent. Strange.

A Dutch Navy officer friend greeted me at the door, which alerted her to my presence… and I went to her desk to say hello. She seemed surprised and pleased, but uncertain what to do. She stood and smoothed her dress, her long hair flowing everywhere, and smiled her radiance to me. She was still as beautiful to me as before.

“Please have dinner with me, Annaliese, would you?” She nodded quickly with a big smile, welcoming me, and I paused at her desk a moment. As usual, her dress was conservative, though always light in the constant heat and humidity – Tarakan is just 3°s above the equator, about 180 miles, and on the edge of the Borneo jungle. Annaliese did not dress provocatively… that was not her. To me, a pretty girl’s dancing eyes and long hair are always first rate attractions, and she was beautiful beyond measure. She was shy and hesitant, couldn’t find any words to speak, but her smile and her expressive blue eyes told me a great deal. I was pleased to see here again, too.

Commander Vermeulen was waiting with several of his staff, including one of the Dutch flying boat pilots from the Naval Air Service group stationed there. Our greetings were friendly, but hurried and he was anxious to hear about what we had seen. His table was cleared waiting for our chart. He listened to my report, we all discussed the meaning we could derive from that, and he asked what my assessment might be. He knew very well that the Japanese were coming; it was only a question of when. He had, I think, two of his own Dutch Navy flying boats running patrols from Tarakan, and they were very keen on what they felt sure would be invasion convoys headed their way within a few days. That certainly seemed the probability to me as well. I did not envy them their position in the least.

The Commander was a genial kinda guy. He told me that he had a car take out cold beer and sandwiches to my crew. There was a dinner party in preparation for the evening for all the staff and their wives, and he invited the three of us as well. He had rooms prepared for us in the barracks close by and then asked what my orders were. I told him I needed to check in with Radio Ambon and Patrol Wing TEN there to be sure. He rose then with a curious expression on his face, and turned for the large window looking out over the field and beckoned me to follow him out of earshot of the others as they were departing.

He mulled over his thoughts for a moment, and I waited for him to speak.

“Will you being seeing Miss Larsen while you are here?”

It was a very fatherly kind of question, but caught me off guard because, though I could easily guess that he was aware of my liaison on my previous visits, there was no overt reason evident for him to inquire into my personal life. Between us, nevertheless, there was little need for any kind of secrecy, and to me it was no great intrusion.

“Yes,” I replied, “as I passed through your outer office I met her again and asked her and she agreed to dinner this evening. May I bring her to your dinner party?”

“Please do; she is more than welcome.” There was more between the lines that followed. I knew a little of Annaliese’s background because she had told me during our picnics and time together the previous fall, but he could add a great deal of more recent information. She and her father were Danish, he had been a senior engineer on the oil drilling rigs, and a very good one, employed by BPM, Bataavsche Petroleum Mij., the Dutch company that managed the oil fields in eastern Borneo. I noticed his usage of the past perfect tense, and since I also knew that Commander Vermeulen spoke very precise English, I knew something else was coming. Sure enough, her father had died three weeks before after a difficult bout with Malaria. That left her essentially alone; a seventeen year old girl, a European in Asia, and he motioned to the east, suggesting in his motion what we both could guess was approaching. He was concerned about her safety when the Japanese came.

His ability to get her away to the south was limited; scheduled commercial air service and all shipping had already been suspended, and before that time she had refused to leave her parent’s home and their memory behind. Clearly, she was distraught, he said, and her only living relatives were in Nazi-occupied Denmark, leaving her nowhere to turn. In the weeks just passed she had spoken to him of me, and had wondered if there was any possibility of me coming again. She was working on his staff now, he added, to give her something to occupy her time, and it would be, he suggested broadly, of great service to the Royal Netherlands Navy were I to find some way to assist.

He left it at that, standing silently, gazing out the window in the direction of the approaching Japanese, and allowing me complete latitude to draw my own conclusions.

After dinner that evening we sat on the bench in the darkness in front of the cozy little home where she and her parents had lived for several years. Her mother had passed away earlier, shortly after they had come to Tarakan for her father’s work. When I asked her what she was going to do, it was quickly evident that she was struggling with an emotional brick wall. She shrugged, and tried bravely to smile at me, and her lower lip began to tremble. I took her in my arms and the tears soon flowed freely as she wept out her anxiety and loss and confusion and loneliness.

Her ability in English was pretty good. She had a basic working knowledge, but lacked practice and exposure. As long as we kept the vocabulary and ideas simple, she was fine. Being fluent in German myself gave me bit of an edge in other Germanic languages, like Dutch, in which I had made some progress, and in Danish, where she had caused my interest to pick up. One did not have, I found out, many Danish language learning resources in the Philippines in 1941. The one thin grammar in the Santo Tomas University library had been published in Købnhavn in 1885.

Wonderful.

During the weeks since passing through Tarakan on survey missions the previous October and November, I had thought that I had found the one girl in the world for me. I had thought about that quite seriously for weeks now, even with the intervening commencement of WWII in the Far East on 8 December, but the logistics involved with doing anything about it, as the war started and we were driven every which way by the Japanese, had left me no opportunity. Now, the chance of a lifetime had fallen right into my lap.

“Annaliese,” I began gently, “last time we were together we talked of love. Do you remember?”

She sniffled and I could feel her head move on my chest as she nodded quickly. I took the plunge fully aware of the challenges and the risks. That phrase in Danish I could handle, “Jeg elkser dig!I love you, Annaliese.”

I could feel her waiting for me to go on.

“I love you and want you to be my companion for all my life. I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me, please.” I had decided before to tell her that, and ask her to be my wife, if we were ever able to be together again. Now we were… yet, I felt like I was stepping off the edge of a cliff. That’s always a big step for a fellow, I would guess. It sure was for me, and the Japanese were not helping it at all.

She sat up carefully and looked at me. A virtual parade of mixed and various emotions passed over her brow, wonder and surprise and confusion and doubt and thrill, and question and then realization. I was twelve years her senior, and as a young girl, conservative and shy and innocent… I knew she was from our very intimate association the previous fall… she had little idea what all lay ahead of her.

“Please say yes, Darling, and I will be the happiest of men.”

She looked at me thoughtfully, and a little twinkle came into those pretty big blue eyes of hers, and she nodded her head again softly… daintily… shyly. Even in the candlelit darkness I could see her nod her head.

There was a twinkle in her eyes… I have thought that such would have been a reflection of light from somewhere… it could not be the candle behind her on the mantle; perhaps a stray moonbeam. It was so very dark, though. I think, when a girl is in love, the light in her eyes comes from within somehow. She was beautiful!

I pulled her to me and kissed her more passionately than I had during my earlier visit, and was delighted to feel her respond to me warmly. Breathless and gasping when we broke for air, she looked up at me and waited. It was dark all around us, but I knew she was blushing and aroused as she struggled for breath and then snuggled closer again.

“I love you, too, Leo. Yes, yes, I will marry you. I was hoping you would ask me.” There was a plaintive, yearning, tender tone in her words, “Thank you for coming back for me.” It was a wonderful sensation to feel her curl up in my arms again.

“I’m so frightened. What’s going to happen to me now? What will you do? Must you fly away again soon?”

“Well, for one, I can not leave you here, Darling.” I had already made up my mind on this point, though it entailed rather considerable risk. “When I leave, you are leaving also!”

She raised her head and was looking at me in the shadows, but I felt sure she was smiling. “I am?” There was surprise and question in her voice, but also excitement and relief. That’s a lot of message for just two words to bear, but then, she was a lot of beautiful girl.

The Maryland was nominally a three place aircraft, but in the narrow, pencil-like body the pilot’s seat was offset to the left slightly to make room for a passage forward into the nose. The observer/bombardier normally rode in the nose forward, entering through a hatch below, but could also use a folding jump seat next to the pilot.

The pilot entered from above, through a folding portion of the canopy and hatch in the turtleback over his seat. The third place was the radio operator’s compartment aft, with its own hatchway entrance. I planned to take Annaliese with us in the jump seat next to me.

An entire encyclopedia of rules and regulations danced in my head. It was pointless to request permission that could not be given anyway. Then, too, the danger involved with taking a civilian, particularly one you love, with you in a warplane designed and intended and very likely to tangle with an enemy in war is itself fraught with great trauma. That we had just completed one dangerous mission and had every expectation of more to follow, just made that risk more foolhardy than ever. On the opposing side of the balance, nevertheless, lay the virtual certainty that left behind in Tarakan this sweet young girl, who I loved and who loved me, would be left to the ravages of the invading Japanese soldiers. Those many transports we had seen at Davao were headed for someplace, and I was aware of how important oil was to the Japs. The huge oil fields at Tarakan were on their list of targets for sure; that was quite clear from our several intelligence briefings back in the Philippines.

Accordingly, given the circumstances, it was not a hard decision.

We talked far into the night, and she snuggled close to me, closer and more readily than she had the previous visit.

“Will you teach me something new, Leo, like you did before?” Her girlish request during our earlier visit had resulted in her first kiss from a man and his caress of her bare shoulder as we were swimming together in the river, and she had repeated it a couple of times in her girlish excitement at our unfolding relationship, each bringing on a tender exchange between us.

“Yes, my pretty girl, I will teach you.” Earlier there had been an unspoken limitation on her query… a barrier we had both imposed upon ourselves because of our standards. She had not been offering me her body, but innocently seeking my closer association. Living on the edge of the Borneo jungle in the 1930s offered little in the way of opportunities for learning and sophistication. Her snuggling as I caressed her back and nuzzled her behind her ear, and our expressions of love and our impending marriage – were now just beginning to take that barrier apart, piece by piece.

She would have followed me and let me, had I pressed her. She was afraid of the unknown, yet trusted me and was comfortable in my arms. I told her we needed a good nights sleep, that tomorrow I would find someone to marry us, and that she should prepare herself to be my wife and go with me.

“Can I stay with you tonight, please?” Her request was as a maid begging a morsel from her prince. What could I say? Still, I knew she was depending on me to lead carefully. In the darkness in her living room, we found the big rattan couch and its many pillows and relaxed together from the day, and talked of our hopes and fears.

By the light of just a single candle we each showered and sluiced away the perspiration of another day in the tropics – even at night the heat and humidity were stifling – then, each in a silken robe, rather than her bed, I lead her by the hand back to the rattan sofa, lay down amid the pillows and gathered her into my embrace, kissed her on her nose, and whispered to her, “I want you with me always, Babe.”

For the first time in my life I let my hand rest on a girl’s leg – realizing that she was, except for the thin silk, nude and yielding to my embrace. I ran my hand up over her cute little bottom and onto the gentle curves of her back, and felt her snuggle closer to me in the process. I gave her a little squeeze, and she cooed softly, feeling safe and serene in my arms and, I think, relieved of a heavy burden. She was already mine; but within the context of our love we both needed the marriage bond first. As open as she was with me that night, I knew she trusted me implicitly to keep her safe. Considering that, in my idealism, I had waited these many years to find her, holding myself in check yet another night was not too great a challenge. I enjoyed her warmth next to me… her warmth and her softness, more than anything that had ever come my way before.

In the darkness and quiet, we both slipped off soon to a sweet slumber.

Well, if Sergeant Mulvane was surprised he managed to keep it from being obvious as we arrived at the plane within just a few minutes of him. He had the car; we had walked the few hundred yards or so from her cottage. He was up on the wing, emerging from the pilot’s hatch, and waved a cheerful greeting and called out to Annaliese. She waved lightly in response, although somewhat shyly as she knew he would deduce that I had spent the night with her, and that embarrassed her a little.

Will was a very direct kind of person, and I had decided long ago that I would, in turn, be as open and direct with him as I could. My intention was to tell him right off that I had decided to take her with us, but I paused just a second too long as we approached him.

“Lieutenant, the jump seat beside you will be just right for Miss Larsen. I’ve brought several blankets from the barracks to kind of cushion things and make it more comfortable for her.” His manner was quite matter of fact, as if the entire issue had already been decided.

Then he turned to her pleasantly, in an officious tone, “Miss Larsen, may I be the first to welcome you aboard our little airline. The rather austere accommodations are being upgraded, Darlin’, and we hope you will be comfortable.”

Then back to me with a little vaudevillian pretense of standing at attention and saluting, “At your command, sir!”

That did it. Annaliese knew Will from our earlier visits, and that he could be quite a character, and she was dissolving in giggles. The moment could not have been better.

The next hour was filled with plans and preparations. With the car we went back to her cottage for some basics. She gathered some foodstuffs in a picnic basket, the same one we had used the previous year together, and looked at me with a tender smile, as if we were going on a picnic together that morning. Then, in a sweeping motion, she captured a few mementoes and some clothing in a small bag, her hair brush, her passport, a photo of her parents in a silver frame, and with the bag rolled and bundled under her arm, turned to me. She had, in those few seconds said her good byes and taken her leave… and looked to me confidently to lead her onward.

I selected two of the pillows from the couch, and we walked out to the car, arm in arm, into our future together, such as it might unfold to us.

At operations we checked in. Commander Vermeulen was there, at work, and busy with some charts. Corporal Tracy was there checking in with communications and told me we had message orders from our controller at Ambon to fly south to Balikpapan and await orders there. Fine.

Commander Vermeulen came over right away and greeted us warmly. I took the occasion to ask who at Tarakan might be authorized to perform a marriage on short notice. He seemed not at all surprised, and turned to one of the others in the group working with him, an older man in civil dress. He was introduced as the presiding civilian authority in the area and could do so.

When?

Right away?

Step right over here, please….

Annaliese had worn her best dress that morning, and even after our walk in the relative cool just before the dawn and her efforts at her cottage, she looked just breathtaking to me. She was surprised that all could move so quickly.

The elderly gentleman sat down at a desk to write out by hand an official looking document, which would take a few minutes. I wanted Sergeant Mulvane there, and asked Corporal Tracy to take the car and get him.

The commander chatted with Annaliese and encouraged her to be confident in her future with me.

Within thirty minutes it was done, and I kissed the bride with very great appreciation, and she blushed for all to see and they cheered us on.

I had a beautiful young girl beside me as my wife, a supportive crew, a plane ticket out of immediate danger, and a clearance for immediate take off and orders to Balikpapan, further south on the Borneo coast and beyond the reach – for the moment – of the approaching Japanese. Commander Vermeulen handed me a typed copy of his last radio signal to his boss in Java, pressed into Annaliese’s hand a small envelope as he gave her a fatherly hug, and saw us out the door.

She was a different girl, almost, as we rode in the back seat back out to the plane. She wanted me to hold her, and whispered repeatedly in my ear her love and devotion and appreciation for me coming for her. I stroked my wife’s breast through her dress and she moaned softly in my ear, a most delightful and passionate response… and then pulled away shyly, conscious of the two men in the front seat, and blushing prettily for me.

At the plane we were all efficiency and excitement. Loaded and just about ready, Annaliese was sitting up on the wing waiting for me. Corporal Tracy had read Vermeulen’s signal and called it to my attention… he had advised his boss in Java that he had dispatched valuable commodities in an American plane – giving our call sign – to Balikpapan, recommending immediate routing to Australia for safekeeping, and requesting a copy be sent to our big boss, the Commander in Chief U. S. Asiatic Fleet, who was then also in Java.

Wow!

“Valuable commodities?” He was correct, of course, I did have the commodities, if I interpreted his signal correctly to mean Miss Larsen. More than anyone else could yet know, I had the commodities! However, the idea of the signal itself struck me as odd. He had enough to do with the imminent invasion. That was the morning of 8 January. Within three days the Japanese ships were in sight from his window and Tarakan surrendered the day after that. Why the odd wording about commodities?

Was I missing something? Was in fact Miss Larsen the “commodities” mentioned? No answers.

Well, we had our hands full as well, and there was no time to mull over such details.

Another few minutes and she was settled in the jump seat beside me and we were off and headed south for Balikpapan. She had flown only once before in a KNILM Sikorsky flying boat, and was excited to do it again. She was all alight with enthusiasm and happiness and adventure, and her beauty and youthful happiness infected my entire crew as well.

What a feeling!

I had her with me and we were on our way. Marvelous.

But she would make it yet more so.

The back of the jump seat was adjustable and I had moved it forward, so she would be sitting with her back forward and looking aft. That gave her more legroom and there was a small, round window on her side to look out. She had access to her bag and the picnic basket behind my seat, and the two pillows and the blankets made it rather cozy. Her seat was set a little lower than the pilot’s, and it proved very practical for her to lean over and rest her head on my thigh. When she did that she relaxed, and I could caress her shoulder through the blankets wrapped around her to keep her warm – up just a few thousand feet and the temperature was much cooler. She got quite comfortable and enjoyed the flight.

Actually, we both enjoyed being together. I slipped off my leather glove and let my fingers wander through her soft hair, and over her pretty face, trace slowly the classic line of her chin, and meander then to the soft skin of her throat. She had the blanket wrapped around her against the chill, and pulled my hand inside to keep it warm. My hand was soon at her breast again, holding her, and she relaxed and seemed to enjoy my caress.

After a few minutes of holding and caressing her gently, a little squeeze now and then, I wiggled my fingers a bit and she giggled, and I set about unbuttoning the front of her dress. With the engines and the wind I could not hear her soft moans of pleasure, but my fingertips picked up the delicate vibrations in her chest. Taking her bare breast in my hand was something very special to me… extraordinary! She was full and firm, yet yielding and silky soft, and… well, very feminine and very loveable.

She took a couple of very deep breaths then, pushing her breast into my hand, and then pulled the blanket tighter and, with her own, lovingly held my hand to her.

It was a very pleasant flight.

We had easily an hour and more of just cruising, and I adjusted things to keep my right hand free. That is, free to be fully occupied with her. With her deep breaths and thrusting her breast into my hand, I recognized that her passions and desires had been awakened, just as holding her in the night and now, even with just one hand, had aroused mine.

From the first she held my hand close to her. As I squeezed her gently and my fingers played across her tender, velvet-like skin, she wiggled and responded to my caresses, and then relaxed more and more, letting my fingers roam where they would, opening the blanket on occasion to watch them stroke her softly.

She turned her head up to me… shy, vulnerable, surprised at my fondling her and the sensations I brought her, welcoming my caresses, not knowing what she was supposed to do. I returned her smile and mouthed silently that I loved her. She watched my mouth intently, then smiled her sweet surrender and laid her head on my leg.

When my fingers focused on her tiny nipple, holding it gently and pressing only lightly, her breath caught in her throat and I could almost hear her cry out.

These were new and exciting sensations for me as well as her. I marveled at the gentle and very enticing curves and the beautiful contours of her full breasts. They were both so very firm and well shaped, while at the same time delicate and soft… and the sensation of her breast in my palm, with her little nipple pushing against my palm as I held her, was more fantastic and wonderful that I had ever imagined could be.

After the first few minutes… well after the first little while, several minutes probably, I grew bolder and let my had roam all over her upper body, up to her throat, and out over her shoulder and down her arm a ways before the fabric of her dress halted me. Then onto her back a little, to the nape of her neck and under her ear, then back down her throat slowly… and with one finger down between her breasts in little wiggly motions, and she giggled and looked up at me with a sweet smile and dancing eyes.

Tickling her a little helped us both break the ice.

Under the blanket, though, her dress was down off both shoulders and she lay against my leg, her head drooping and arms at her side, constrained by her dress, and limp like a rag doll. Her breasts were bare and swollen and flushed with my caressing, and she was panting. I could look down at her beside me, not much more than fleeting glances really, and the exquisite view of her was enough to stop the world. It was only with considerable self-discipline that I kept my thoughts sufficiently focused on flying and the job at hand.

She was a very pretty distraction.

I continued to caress her. Some would say I was playing with her. It was different, I told myself, when the girl was your wife and you loved each other… that made it entirely different, and the playing became something intimate and very special between just two. I drew little circles around her one breast with my fingertip, slowly getting closer to the tip. Her breathing was very labored and she obviously delighted in me fondling her.

I didn’t think it was such a bad pastime either.

When I slipped my hand under her one breast I discovered something quite nice. Holding her was wonderful, but when I lifted her breast gently, taking its weight in my hand, she cried out… I could just barely hear her. She looked up at me again, eyes closed this time and her mouth open and gasping for air, but she responded to my lifting with a most passionate moaning. She was exquisite!

After a time she calmed and relaxed and seemed to rest. I pulled the blanket across her body before she got too cold. Each time I seemed to be pulling away she moaned and moved in the cutest little way to beg me not to leave her.

I worked her shoulder through the blanket a while, running my fingers up into her hair and caressing her gently. She seemed to drift off, soothed and happy. Withdrawing my hand was for her at first withholding warmth and life itself, but when I touched her nose and she felt me turning the plane, she let me go, if reluctantly. Gradually she recovered her composure, and as we taxied to the apron following the truck ahead of us, she was sitting up, facing me.

I thought at first that she would herself tend to her dress, but flushed and aroused and submissive, she seemed not to be so inclined and just looked at me with her soft eyes, and that saucy little pout on her pretty mouth. She had become very undone. Her eyes were shy and downcast, and she was waiting for me to lead her, and seemingly not anxious at all at having so let go of herself with me. She was quite fetching. As I shut down the engines and we could suddenly hear ourselves think again, and the stifling humidity flooded into the cockpit after I opened the canopy, I leaned over to her and spoke softly, “My pretty darling, thank you for being so open and fresh and lovely just for me. You are a delightfully beautiful girl, Annaliese, and I have enjoyed holding you close and feeling your love for me.” When she lifted her face to me it was something wondrous to behold. Her eyes were soft and tender with love, and it was very evident that she was mine. I pulled her dress up and over her shoulders and across her pretty breasts and buttoned her up properly.

“Your hands are so very gentle, Darling. I love you.” Her soft words were rich and full of feeling. The world was good!

We had, in previous months, carried messages, mail, and even special passengers for Bataavsche Petroleum and when we got to the field at Balikpapan, the company had a car to meet us and nice quarters prepared. That was midday on the 8thwhen we landed there, and there was no avoiding the impression that tragedy loomed unmistakably. The Japanese were close, and no one thought it would be much longer.

It wouldn’t be.

I encouraged Annaliese to just sit a moment and brush her hair if she wanted, which would, of course, allow her to gather her composure after my fondling her. I was getting out, and when she felt she was ready, I said, she was to stand up on the seat. I would be watching and see her head sticking out and climb back up on the wing to lift her out.

The BPM official had already arranged for the plane to be refueled, and Mulvane and Tracy would remain with the plane to see to whatever checks and servicing they could manage as well as the fueling. Corporal T let me know that he had completed copying a coded message from our controller before checking out with Ambon Radio minutes before we landed, so any message for us would now come via the Dutch radio at Balikpapan. Normal procedure for us. Sergeant M took pains to get the plane sheltered as best could be. There was no real shelter available, and with several hours of daylight remaining, there was still significant danger of air attack, although much less now at Balikpapan as we were farther away from the Japanese. The Dutch bowser towed ol’ Number FOUR tail first into the shade of several large trees at the edge of the field, and the motion of the plane slowly rolling made her anxious and she stood up, and we waved and she giggled with her hand over her mouth. She was so very cute in her mannerisms.

I helped her down, and she brought her picnic basket with her, asking if I was hungry. Together we moved a safe ways away from the plane during refueling, and while Tracy and I slaved over the message to figure out what may be there for us, Annaliese opened her picnic basket under trees in a little clearing and began to fix some snacks for us, pending a decision on what came next. There was always danger of fire and explosion when refueling an airplane, so Tracy and I picked up her things and we moved her a good ways away, and explained to her why. I reminded her too of the danger from enemy fighters and to listen for airplanes. She eyed me carefully and was more than a little anxious, but I could feel her effort to put on a brave face as well, and her fixing snacks was a way for her to contribute and gave her something to do. That’s not to suggest it was not appreciated. It helped her when Tracy thanked her for a big slice of good cheese.

My including her in the team struck a resonant chord, and she beamed at me with delight, as I turned back to Tracy and the message. Within another minute she had a big sandwich prepared for the corporal and held it up, sister-like, for him to take a bite, and, had he not been with the program before, that gesture would have won him over. He was thrilled at her attention.

It was also a good sandwich, with his favorite kind of cheese. When you live and work close to each other and scrounge for food, you get to know people’s likes and dislikes. Corporal Tracy liked a good Dutch Gouda, and that was just what she had given him.

Working together, Tracy and I finally had enough to dope out the text and clear a couple of garbles:

XXX four fm homeplate x major in one ftr SIXTH recon X vmsb103 now disestablished x proceed australia via raaf darwin to report to alusna canberra for further orders x good luck xxx

We stood a minute and took that in. “Homeplate” was our squadron operations controller, who had moved from Del Monte to Laha with Major Crenshaw just days before. The message was a real jolt to us both. Our little project was liquidated and we were now the last of our twelve Marylands still flying. The Major and his crew in ONE had been lost on a scouting flight the previous day.

That’s what ‘FTR’ meant… ‘failed to return.’

From earlier messages we knew that FIVE and TEN had aborted at Del Monte, and then were destroyed the same afternoon by Jap planes. Our number FOUR was now the last plane remaining of the twelve with which we had started just a year before. There were still a half dozen of the fellows at Ambon, and doubtless they would be picked up by the Navy’s Patrol Wing TEN organization operating there. Our squadron, however, Marine Scout Bomber Squadron 103, was history.

That all meant reorienting our thinking, and actually the message simplified our situation immensely. I had Annaliese with me and my two crewmen, and now orders out of the area. It was heaven-sent for sure; we could hardly be more fortunate, really. We were to fly on to Australia. ‘ALUSNA’ was American Legation U. S. Naval Attaché… the American Embassy in the Australian capitol. No arguing with that! We, all three of us, knew the Allies had nothing strong enough to halt what we had seen of the Japanese on Luzon and at Davao, and now we had been ordered out. Not very patriotic, of course, to just leave everybody else behind, but we were trying to be realistic in our long term view. Nobody said anything, but they with me breathed a sigh of relief… and taking Annaliese with us appeared now to be no big problem.

“OK, Corporal, get the charts out of the plane so we can plan out our flight path; I’ll talk to Sergeant Mulvane.”

He nodded gravely, full of mixed feelings, and headed for the plane. Before I said anything to her, I wanted to get Mulvane’s thoughts. It was just the way we operated. We were only a minute side by side and Tracy handed me the charts and took over the fueling and waved the sergeant away to confer with me.

Mulvane seemed a little bent at the message, but I knew his anger was at the Japanese. He had not been that enamored with Major Crenshaw’s command style, but Sergeant Mulvane was a Marine – first, last and always – and I would never have seen his reservation had we not been working so close together. I knew, too, that Gunnery Sergeant Allard, the Major’s NAP and navigator, was a very close friend and drinking buddy. The reasonable assumption was that the Gunny had been in ONE when it went down. That hurt, and Sergeant Mulvane translated hurt into anger. It was his defense mechanism.

He swallowed all that in barely a heartbeat, and I would not have seen that either but for our experience together. These Marines were tough as nails. I was proud to be included in their group.

“We’ve got a pass out of area to return with more strength and whip these Nip interlopers, Will. My thought is that we make the hop to Makassar yet this afternoon. We’ve got five hours of daylight left and we can make it in…” measuring the distance on the chart roughly with my fingers, “in three at the most. Then hop on to Penfoi the next day and then were are beyond the reach of fighters at least, and can breathe again.” I paused briefly. “What’s your read of the situation?”

“It’s against my nature, Lieutenant,” there was fire in his voice, and I knew why, “to turn my back on these dirty SOBs… especially with those fellows up on Luzon, who are never going to get out of that trap.” His tone was dripping with tension and fury at the situation. He was thinking of the fellows in the squadron still in the PI, and, too, of the FOURTH Marines. The American position in the Philippines was going down the toilet, and the entire FOURTH Marine Regiment and all the rest with it. “You’re right, however…,” his tone was clipped and decisive, “as usual. Besides, we’ve got,” and his voice mellowed quickly, “that sweet young girl to think about now as well.”

He paused briefly and then looked at me.

“It’s always hard to mix love and war, sir, but… I’d have done just what you did up there. She’s a first class lady… and those damn Jap soldiers would have….” He stopped short, and we just looked at each other, thinking the same thing, and the fire was back, smoldering just under the surface. Back in the PI in November, as we met some of the FOURTH as they arrived from duty in North China, we gathered a lot of information. They had seen for several months how the crude and obnoxious Japanese soldiers treated Caucasian women in Shanghai and other places, some of the White Russian girls for instance.

Not pretty.

He made only the briefest pause and then grinned, his attention shifting, “And, if I may make a casual observation, Flags,” he would only seldom use my Navy nickname to my face, and then only when he wanted to drive home a point, “she thinks the world of you, you lucky stiff!”

“Thanks for your support, Will, from a good friend that means a lot.”

“I’ll get this fueling completed and we’ll be on our way. This would be a hell of a time to let those Jap bastards catch now.” He turned away to get on with the business at hand.

Thinking about the situation, I figured we were probably beyond the range of Japanese fighters, but they used their twin engine bombers for recon work, too, and one bomber making a strafing pass could turn ol’ Number FOUR into a funeral pyre, and we didn’t need that.

The BPM man was surprised, but understood quickly what I meant to do. I asked for some food supplies to take with us and he said there would be no problem. It made sense for me to check in with operations, and it was evident that Annaliese was anxious about remaining with the plane if I left… actually, she was shy and felt very ill at ease without me around, so I took her with me. I waved to Will, now with his own sandwich and beer in hand, and he estimated an half hour max to complete fueling, and we were off.

At the Ops shack, while I checked on weather and such details she gathered up the bread and a couple of liters of fruit juice, water, a can of marmalade, and six bottles of beer, and fresh fruit that appeared from somewhere.

Weather was really rather bad; heavy rain and low visibility over Makassar Straits most of the way, but the latest from Makassar Town, our next stop at the southwest corner of Celebes, was four-tenths cloud and wind at fifteen knots from the east, holding the weather front off the coast. If it held, that would do just fine. I checked on radio freqs for the Makassar controller, and minutes later were headed back for the plane.

The two of them had the fueling completed and the bowser passed us on the way out. Wolfing down Annaliese’s sandwiches and enjoying another Heinekens, they were keeping one eye peeled for any aircraft overhead. Nothing so far.

Corporal Tracy, mouth still working on the last of his second sandwich, maybe it was his third, made a comment about how the food on this flight was better than anything that was served on the Pan American Clippers, and Annaliese smiled sweetly at him in appreciation. No Marine – no sailor either, for that matter – is above having his heart melted by the shy smile of a pretty girl, Corporal Tracy among them.

“Hell, Sergeant,” he turned to Will with a swagger, pulling out his sidearm, his .45 automatic, and waving it the air wildly for effect, “I can lick the whole Japanese Navy now! Let’s go get ’em!”

Farewells and preparations were brief. Tracy was to check in with ops on 2716 for departure and weather updates, then shift later to 3206 for Makassar field. She handed each of them a bottle of the beer and we climbed aboard, I got my princess settled in her seat next to me and we stowed the food. The Maryland’s electric starters worked well, and the BPM man waved us out onto the field as I completed my preflight. Tracy let me know Ops had given us a green light to go. We were off. Our ETA at Makassar was 1630, with two hours of daylight remaining beyond that.

Up forward in the nose Will would be doing most of the navigating. We had agreed we would angle southeast across the Straits to hit the Celebes coast and then turn south for Makassar, mostly because we expected the weather to be less violent along the coast.

She didn’t like wearing the extra headset, especially since she knew that anything she said to me or I to her would be heard by the other fellows. She sat quietly beside me and, as the temperature dropped with the wind and altitude, she snuggled up in her pillows and blankets to keep warm, pulling the two blankets tightly around her legs. When she looked up at me her blue eyes were bright, and she smiled at me lovingly.

“There’s a ship off to the right ahead.”

It was Will’s voice; I could see it now too, well ahead and off to the right maybe a mile off our course. We were well out over Makassar Straits then, just where the shipping might be expected in the deep water channel, but there was little chance of the ship being enemy. We were too far south for that.

“Let’s take a closer look!” I adjusted our course slightly to pass closer. We were only about four thousand feet, with heavy thunderheads to our right and off yet a ways. “I’m comin’ down to deck level.” We would get our best look close to the water and I planned to make one pass astern to get her name if possible. Will would have his glasses ready.

The ship was not a large one, probably an inter-island steamer. She hoisted her Dutch ensign as she saw us approaching and turned her stern to us. We zoomed by with the ship on our right and I motioned to Annaliese to look out her little window. She watched the ship and then turned to me with a smile. That smile made my heart soar!

Will said he got her name, and I pulled the nose up to gain some altitude. Within a few minutes Will had passed the ship’s name, course and estimated speed and our position back to Corporal Tracy and he was busy keying out our report on his radio to the U. S. Navy headquarters in Java, using the same radio circuit the Navy boys in their PBYs used to make their scouting reports.

The rest of the flight was routine, and we were soon on the field at Makassar, picked a place on the apron to park and shut ’em down for the night. The Dutch officer in Ops estimated that they would get some rain during the night and probably most of the next day. Accordingly, we planned a dawn take off, rain or no, to get clear of the weather as well as the Japanese.

Sergeant Mulvane made a gallant proposal, that if I were to accept the responsibility of caring for “our” passenger – he emphasized the plural possessive pronoun – he and the corporal would attend to the plane, suggesting a 0600 take off for Penfoi. I accepted, and in the car that was available to us, directed the driver to the Grand Hotel, leaving him instructions to pick up the crew in an hour.

Once at the hotel, I tipped the one Dutch fellow we knew from earlier visits and asked him to send out some of their best food and some beer to the crew of the American plane at the field, and a nice dinner order and some fruit juice to our room. I checked us into a nice room, signing for it for the first time in my life as Lieutenant and Mrs., and the first time ever with a girl in my company. It felt both incredibly wonderful and a little strange at the same time. We were alone together for the evening and able to relax and eat and talk like we had been unable to do in the plane.

“Teach me something new,” she begged in her dainty voice, as we sat together eating. Her trusting, tender manner just flooded my being with love and joy and, I rose, took her hand in mine, and led her to the large bed.

Now all the barriers had dissolved away.

She was my wife!

It may not yet be clear whether this is a story about a girl… or about airplanes and men at war. Well, at the time things were pretty intense and mixed up. Those who have not experienced the stress and constant terror and continual change and uncertainty that accompanies armed conflict, on both sides, probably won’t relate to that entirely. I was having a hard time myself as the two major emotional demands on my being made themselves so very proximate and incessant when I hardly thought I had resources to handle one at a time.

Sixty Marines had been scraped together at San Diego and shipped to the Philippines in November 1940 with fifteen aircraft scrounged from a French order taken over by the British and then repossessed by the USA. There was a move afoot at the time to move the entire Second Marine Air Group to the Philippines embarked in the aircraft carrier YORKTOWN, and, probably, the formation and movement of the squadron was part of that. Then the policy changed, the Asiatic Fleet would not be reinforced, the carrier and the Second MAG move was scratched, but the freighter that carried our planes and personnel arrived in January.

There was no supply pipeline for the planes, and the only way for the squadron to manage was to hold three of the crated planes and engines for spares and replacements. Someone decided to attach the unit to the Navy’s Patrol Wing TEN and thus, alongside VP 101 and VP 102, Navy patrol squadrons flying PBY Catalina flying boats, the orphaned Marines were commissioned as VMSB 103 – a Marine Scout Bomber Squadron. So, there we were, twelve Martin light bombers… there was never an official designation, and we only supposed the Navy would get around to calling them SBM-1s someday, e.g. Scout Bomber, Martin, first model, in the typical Navy/Marine Corps pattern. I’m not aware that they ever did. We soon just called them by their sequential squadron number, ONE through TWELVE.

To assist the Marine major in command, Patrol Wing TEN assigned one naval aviator officer as squadron liaison… thus one Navy lieutenant was tossed into the world of sixty wild and wooly aviation Marines… me. Plane Number FOUR soon became mine, and my observer / navigator / plane captain / crew chief was Sergeant Will Mulvane, a skilled a dedicated navigator and aircraft mechanic of extraordinary talents, of which I was often the benefactor. Back after rode the radioman / gunner. Another young Marine was originally assigned, but later Corporal Tracy replaced him.

The Asiatic Fleet took an odd turn with VMSB 103. The squadron’s planes were intentionally left unmarked except for the single numeral on the fin. As such, the Admiral sent us on all manner of strange missions to places where, in the pre-Pearl Harbor political environment, an American military plane might otherwise have been, well, too obvious. The Dutch and Australians themselves welcomed us; it was the Japanese operatives in the Indies that would have reported us, and probably did anyway. Tokyo, someone thought, would have been upset. Whether they ever were, we never knew. Anyway, our twelve SBMs made numerous survey flights throughout the southern Philippines, and then south into the Dutch East Indies and to several fields on the Australian coast. As a result, the Asiatic Fleet’s knowledge of airfields and local conditions was many times better than it would have otherwise been.

FOUR made three flights altogether that took us via Tarakan on various assignments in the pre-war months. When war came all that changed. We loaded real ammunition for the guns and painted white stars on the planes… the ones that were left.

OK, that’s the background on the war stuff. Here’s the dope on the girl, some of it.

She was just seventeen, and one might have thought her still a child. Of course, she was… had been in many ways. She was also a blossoming young woman eager for the adventures of life that awaited her, though she had only a vague idea of what those might be. She had blossomed quite dramatically through our first night together as man and wife.

We arose early in order to keep our scheduled departure for Penfoi, and I thought her beautiful and fresh and enchanting as we showered and dressed and had a quick breakfast in the hotel, but I was too enthralled myself to perceive the changes in her I had witnessed through the night together.

Sergeant Mulvane was not.

He and Tracy had gone out to the plane earlier and sent the car back for us. When we arrived all was pretty much in readiness. Tracy was in his place and Will was waiting for us. The storm was rolling in off the sea now and the day threatened to bring some serious rain, and we wanted to be away to avoid that. I helped her from the car and took her bag, and as she emerged and stood at my side Will was visibly impressed, and his mouth seemed to be paralyzed for a moment. He smiled pleasantly and then greeted her with a warm and friendly word, complementing her on her beauty, welcoming her aboard as our fourth crew member to assist the pilot. It was a playful bit of gallantry meant to ease her concern, and he was good at such glibness, but through that shown also, at least to me, that he saw her now as she had blossomed… she was no longer just a young girl, she had become a young lady in the fullest sense.

Will and I had talked of women and girls at length, and we understood each other, though we perhaps each had very divergent standards. What he saw that morning in my wife of one whole day was not the girl we had known in and brought with us from Tarakan, but a gracious and feminine young lady that inspired his greatest respect and highest regard.

“Good morning, Will.” Her voice sweet with friendliness in response, and she handed him the chocolate bar from the hotel cantina she had brought especially for him. “Where’s Corporal Tracy?” she inquired brightly, a second bar in her hand for him. Will wheeled and led her to the side of the plane and tapped on Tracy’s little window for him to open up.

She handed him her gift daintily, smiling at him. She had, indeed, changed. She was still shy and reserved, but her movements showed us too that now she felt confident that she belonged with us. She was a picture of exquisite feminine beauty!

“It’ll be raining very soon, Lieutenant, and the weather-guesser is predicting a downpour; all’s ready, sir.”

I lifted Annaliese up onto the wing and then tossed her bag up beside her. Will and I did a quick preflight around the plane and discussed the engines. The port engine was beginning to burn a little oil, he said, but nothing serious.

Before he climbed up into the nose he turned to me, with a somber, fatherly tone – he was a year older than I at thirty, “You did well by her, son,she’s glowing this morning. I have never seen a more beautiful girl in all my life!”

More pleased with myself perhaps than any man has a right to be, I thanked him and told him to get aboard and quit wasting time, we had to get off ahead of the rain. I ducked under and then climbed up myself onto the wing, we got Annaliese settled into her seat, and, as I was getting settled myself, I looked down at her. Shewas glowing as she looked up at me with adoring big blue eyes. I leaned over to kiss her and she reached up to me, wanting my kiss.

The patter of the first heavy raindrops on the metal airframe caused us to draw apart, and she was gasping for breath. The canopy above my head was still open and a few drops fell on her upturned cheeks, rosy and warm from our kiss, and I swept them away lightly with a fingertip. I could not imagine a more beautiful girl.

Turning my attention to our airplane, I pulled the canopy closed, checked with the fellows, started the engines and we were soon off for Timor.

Now, as we headed for Penfoi, the field near Koepang, Dutch Timor, these two deeply personal interests seemed to be at cross purposes.

Though I was piloting an American warplane across the Indies, my heart and head were reeling with the delight of the previous nights experiences. My experience with women to that point had been, shall we say, circumspect,i.e. less that fully intimate physically. That’s right, I was a virgin. I’d never had a girl before. That ultimate experience was something special in my book, and it was to be with one girl and only one. I expected I would find one that would feel the same and save herself just for me.

I had.

During the previous night, two who had held themselves in waiting, dropped all pretense and reserve and, in the solitude of the rather nice room in the Grand Hotel in Makassar, we consummated our marriage… gently, patiently, tenderly, and then with greater confidence and desire and passion for each other. It was, how can I say it, a magnificent experience! I wanted very much to make it memorable for her, and for us both it was an earthquake-like, before-and-after demarcation in our lives.

The fellows were quiet during the flight, their thoughts probably dominated, as were mine, by the magnificence of having a young lady like Annaliese with us in the plane.

The flight was neither long nor exhaustive. Penfoi was about 400 miles, and Darwin another 500 beyond that. We might have done it in one hop, but there was no sense in straining things. We cruised at 230 mph south and east, topped off at Penfoi and chatted with the RAAF fellows there about recent developments and got the latest operations dope on Batchelor Field at Darwin, stretched our legs a bit in the sunshine, and during the fueling Annaliese produced from her picnic basket fruit and delicious sandwiches made on the spot. She was very clever in this department, and Will and Tracy were both impressed and delighted. So was I. We had never before eaten this well on a flight.

The Australians fellows gathered around us like flies… around her, actually, happy to have a pretty girl in their midst. They playfully begged a sandwich or two, and after a moments hesitation, with Corporal Tracy having stationed himself protectively by her side, she responded playfully, in her limited English, that her sandwiches were for “authorized crew members only.” The cobbers, of course, thought such an uproariously funny comeback, and promptly volunteered for service in the U. S. Marines. Corporal Tracy, joining in the banter, allowed as how few of them could pass the requirements… and more uproar followed.

Most of the revelry missed Annaliese, as her English was too elementary to catch the gist of the Aussie humor. Just as well, as some of it got rather bawdy and suggestive. But what I noticed, too, was that Tracy seemed to know when to break off the party and get her back to the plane. They arrived, several Australian fellows still trailing along behind like puppies, as the fueling bowser was disconnecting. I concluded that Will and Tracy had been signaling each other somehow. The corporal waited with her next to plane for me to come and lift her up onto the wing. Several would have been willing to do that, but he knew me and wanted to respect her in this way. I was impressed with his awareness of things and skill in handling people like that.

I had been talking with the senior Australian sergeant in charge of the fueling bowser, and watching the progress of things, finally signed the chit for the fuel, and, for the benefit of the watchers, turned to the others in my best Yankee western drawl, “All right, saddle up, boys, we’re headed outta here.!”

The Australians cheered us… well, cheered the Yanks and the lady that rode with them.

“Thank you, Leo.” She was settled again next to me and feeling that she belonged with us and even more secure in that feeling than before. “Sergeant Mulvane and Corporal Tracy are very nice to me. They like you, I can tell.” Her voice could carry a great deal of tenderness when she spoke softly. “I do, too.” She smiled at me and her eyes twinkled. Her cheeks were full of roses.

There is something very satisfying and soothing to a man’s heart about having the adulation of a beautiful young girl. Add to that the thrill of her being his sweet and loving wife at the same time, and he can be forgiven if he imagines the world can not get much better.

“Teach me something new, Leo.”

Her sweet entreaty was always so delicious in implication that the entire world outside our selves just withdrew into the shadows. I had been thinking about what ‘new’ things I could teach her, where my own fund of experience was so very shallow. What I determined that day in Darwin I now look back on as being remarkably wise for a young buck like I was then. I figured that if I focused on giving her pleasure, treating her always with respect and tenderness, and making her my companion… and thus not some kind of servant or slave or lesser person… she would respond in kind, and reciprocate, loving and trusting and wanting to be with me.

We had already progressed to the point where she would almost melt into my arms when I held her breasts, and loved for me to fondle her breasts and tease and tantalize her, and I found I could ‘make her’ come for me by caressing her breasts. I told her that she glowed with beauty when she climaxed for me. She had been frightened at first when she climaxed, loosing all control and awareness, but when I cuddled her and coaxed her she gained confidence all would be well, and then began to look for me to do it again.

Finally, one day she asked me to ‘make her….’ She wanted to glow for me, she said, because she loved me. Can you imagine? She was a treasure!

Then one evening as we made love, and she lay beneath me, eyes glistening with passion and the special kind of surrender that she showed me, I became aware of some more of the muscular actions that went into intercourse. Unfamiliar as I was with such things, I could not determine what was ‘normal’ or ‘abnormal’ – only what was comfortable and stimulating, etc., for us. What I noticed was the muscles in her vagina that contracted around me to draw me deeper into her and hold on to me. With observation it seemed that this was not a conscious effort of hers but evidently a reaction to the stimulus of me being inside her, which, it was easy enough to perceive in her reactions, was very enjoyable to her.

It certainly was for me!

One evening a day or two later I devised an experiment to learn more about what I thought I was observing. As I brought her nigh onto orgasm I slowed my rhythm and held myself a bit above her, and a distance where normally I would have slipped out of her all but the last inch or two. She was trembling and lifted her bottom to me, and I could feel her muscles working me, contracting around me to tighten their hold on me.

The sensation that such action caused for me was something well nigh indescribable, and tremendously exciting. Her vagina, stimulated by and sensitive to my presence, wanted me to stay there and make love to her and possess her, and certainly not to leave her. It was magical to hold myself above her briefly, feel her craving my thrusts and begging piteously in her whimpers and by the frantic muscular responses in her vagina for me to thrust deeply into her yet again. My own erection and readiness to fill her need was multiplied by each such pause, and, too, the intensity of the pleasure that then my thrusting into her again brought on for her was remarkable, whether gentle and slow or quick and ruthless – there was, I found, a time for both.

It was like a dam bursting! Her entire being was flooded with unspeakable joy, her breath would often catch, she would call out my name or moan passionately or scream, her head thrashing from side to side, and within a stroke or two at such moments I could bring her to a momentous climax that shook her very being to its foundation.

The first time I tried to use what I was learning to heighten her response resulted in an orgasm for her certainly of the first magnitude. She gushed her fluids around me and I poured into her all that I could muster, and she collapsed under me and soon thereafter I alongside her. That had been the third climax for her in the space of an hour or so, and she was utterly spent. She had given me her all, and taken all I could give her, and she was sobbing softly in my arms, exhausted and weepy, “thank you” was all she seemed to be able to manage.

I have since that time with her come to learn that a man with an eight and a half inch erection more than five inches in circumference could do that to a girl on a regular basis, but at the time I thought it quite an achievement.

Even in casual chit chat getting to know the locals, one quickly learns that swimming along Australia’s northern coastline is something done with care and caution. During our enforced layover at Darwin I determined to arrange some kind of outside situation where we could go swimming together and then picnic and make love in reasonable comfort and she could scream her head off without feeling at all inhibited by another human being hearing her… another other than her husband. Considering the topography in the Darwin area and the social conditions in early 1942, that was a tall order.

Determination and cunning are, as some older Marines like to remind us, formidable opponents. And so, with effort, a candidate location was found. Northeast of Darwin on the coast, a small bay where the ocean currents seemed to eddy periodically, had left something like a lagoon sheltered from the open sea by a reef. Two days later I had opportunity to scout the place from the air during a check out hop in the Navy’s J2F from the seaplane tender LANGLEY, then in port. It appeared prime, sandy beach, a fair amount of green foliage on the backshore, and I could see the faint trail of a rough roadway to the area. Estimated distance, twenty miles from the town. Discrete inquiries in civilian circles indicated that a developer had surveyed the site two years before as a potential site for a resort. Extended surveys confirmed that neither crocs nor sharks frequented the lagoon.

Bingo!

The Navy had two vehicles in Darwin then, both landed from the LANGLEY before she departed on 11 February, just days before. Somewhat cavalierly I commandeered one, she packed us a full basket, and we were off. I left a sealed envelope with Sergeant Mulvane so that someone knew where we were off to, should something happen.

Nothing did.

It took us two hours to get there over really rough roads. Finally, I thought I recognized the landscape from my survey flight, and sure enough, within a few minutes we were at the edge of the water on a low, rocky shelf, large trees and greenery to our right and the clear water and a sandy stretch of pristine beach immediately before us.

We explored, and found some things… among which was a togetherness and trust that was just magical. Like many European women in the tropics, she had given up on underwear that was so uncomfortable in the continual heat and sticky tropical humidity. Still, we had only been married now a few days, and nudity was still a challenge for her, and now outside in the strange Australian bush even more so. I tried hard to make her comfortable, and gradually she relaxed, trusting me to take care of her.

After some swimming time and the refreshing water, too warm to be all that cooling but definitely wet, we emerged back onto our blanket in the shade. Two things were immediately evident. She felt at ease now with me being all bare herself and was laughing and giggling when I tickled her, and then it was soon evident that she noticed that I was aroused. When I was nude and erect around her she was typically on the road to orgasm herself and wanting me, so the visual image made her aroused as well.

I was pleased to be able to bring her joy. I teased her and tantalized her, and our love making brought her three or four earth shattering experiences in the course of the day together. She gave herself to me with all the vigor of youth, and we both learned something new about each other.

Over the long years looking for a good woman to be my companion, I had fantasized that intimacy would be a grand experience. Reality, I found, was worth a million fantasies, and more. And her uninhibited moans and outcry at the orgasms I induced were testament to my blooming success as a lover and her blossoming as a loving wife.

It was a day full of delights beyond words.

The next day was 19 February, a working day for us, and that day changed everything, well, almost everything.

The Japanese attack on Port Darwin that day is well documented elsewhere, and I’ll not go into any great detail here. Suffice it to say, it was a rude shock to everyone and a first magnitude disaster.

We needed to get some fresh .30 caliber ammunition for the plane’s machine guns and the rumor was out that the Asiatic Fleet’s supply officer was holding pay call aboard the destroyer PEARY before the ship got underway for Java. Accordingly, with our take off for Canberra scheduled for the next morning, this was the time to get paid as much as the Eagle would allow. Will and Tracy took the ship’s whaleboat out on its first run that morning. The plan was that they would go from pay call on the PEARY over to the seaplane tender PRESTON, another of those working with the Navy PBYs, for the ammunition and return.

The Japanese planes attacked about 0930. A bomb hit the destroyer and she exploded and sank in the harbor, with many, many casualties. PRESTON was also hit, though not so badly, and was steaming out the channel to escape. At the time we didn’t know whether she would make it or not. The Jap fighters sank her three PBYs on the water, but the tender did escape.

In the near panic and confusion after the all clear, we waited on the pier for Sergeant Mulvane and Corporal Tracy to return, hoping that rescue boats might find them. There was a chance that they had already moved over to the PRESTON, but it was too early, I thought.

Nothing.

I left full identifying information with the senior naval officer concerning the two Marines, but we never saw or heard anything more of them.

That was the hard one.

We had planned to have dinner together that evening, the four of us, and their marked absence was hard for her. After dinner, subdued and fragile, I took her back to our room and Annaliese broke down and cried, just sobbed her heart out. I think she had come to feel at ease with them, trusting them to treat her nicely. She seemed to me particularly sensitive to that with men. I think some of her tears were for her parents, particularly her father. She spoke of him the following morning early when we awoke. She liked to snuggle up to me in the morning to stay warm, and then she talked of him. Her short sentences could draw only on vocabulary that she knew, and in speaking of him she had few words at her command. He loved her, had been careful about her safety, and, I supposed, his concern had caused her to be a bit fearful of men in general. That’s hard to assess after the fact. The news was out by then as well that the Japanese had taken Tarakan… and that meant that her father, mother, childhood home and associated memories were now only in her own mind. Her tears were perhaps a composite of these many things; I couldn’t be sure of any of that. I did know well enough that tenderness was what she needed from me, and comforting her filled my heart with love for her.

Later, we drove the pickup truck out to the field that morning with a load of medical supplies. Considering what we knew of priorities for the attacking planes, I figured I could assess pretty clearly what to expect at the airfield. There was really no need to hurry to see it. Wreckage was wreckage, and getting there sooner would not change anything. Not a single airplane of the dozen or so there on the field was undamaged, and most were completely destroyed. Number FOUR had been fueled and ready to go Canberra the following day. Now it was a fire-blackened scar on the asphalt apron, two charred engines laying askew and the entire airframe, save for a small portion of the tail assembly, nothing but a charred, misshapen, unrecognizable piece of utterly useless junk.

That was all that was left. Seeing that, I was able to then just close the book on my service with VMSB 103. It was over and there was nothing left of it at all.

She sat silently next to me in the cab, and finally I turned away for the RAAF aid station where we were to deliver the supplies. In the process of the day I began to recognize the changes in her. They were subtle, really, others may not ever have detected them, but she had matured quite markedly from the young seventeen year old girl I had visited in Tarakan the previous November. She was still just seventeen, but she had become an adult. She had weathered trauma and loss, left her childhood behind, found the joy of love and security with a man, even as trauma and loss continued. I was grieved at the depth of pain that was hers to endure; yet pleased at her growth and the strength she seemed to draw from her experience… and, I hoped, from my loving her.

Unloading the truck at the aid station with a couple dozen wounded there, she turned quickly to help and worked quite unbidden at a number of the many things needing doing, full of initiative and compassion, heedless of her own needs and anxious to help anywhere she could. When I had the truck loaded with some boxes and other items to move into town the RAAF sergeant in charge let her know I was ready to go, and thanked her for her assistance. She stood from tending a lady’s burned foot and leg, and looked at me, then turned back to complete her efforts in the bandaging. That finished, she slipped her apron off and wiped her hands, and stepped into my arms for a hug.

War and tragedy are ever a terrible event, but sometimes it is the very spur we need to move beyond ourselves to engage in the greater good.

Under the circumstances, without crew and aircraft and my previous assignment perhaps suspended by events, I was wondering how the Navy might handle my further duty assignment. The U. S. Naval Observer at Darwin, a commander whose name eludes me now, was waiting for me when we returned from the RAAF field. There were two sailors there to unload the truck and take it from there, and I asked Annaliese to wait for me a moment while I spoke with him.

“No, bring her in, too.” We were acquainted and had had dinner together a few days before. So, in we went. We chatted pleasantly for a moment and then he said he had had a phone call from Canberra, from the naval attaché. Was I there in the city? Did I still have certain “valuable commodities” in my possession? He looked at me as if I would know what that meant, and shrugged as if to say that he certainly did not. If so, he was to arrange for me to move onward to the Embassy as quickly as possible.

He was waiting for my response and I was not sure how to answer. There was no need to be secretive, nor to doubt his loyalty and identity, but a wise person in the service learns to discern when to talk and when to just let a situation evolve. There seemed no particular reason to be wary, yet, I just answered his questions and left it at that. “Valuable commodities” does not in general usage include people, but the term had been exactly what Commander Vermeulen back in Tarakan had used in his message, and the use of the same phrase now made me alert. Earlier, I had interpreted the meaning to be Miss Annaliese Larsen, even if the syntax seemed extraordinary and inexact. The “commodities,” if my interpretation was correct, had in the meantime acquired yet another, and more permanent cover name. She was now Mrs. Leo Sheppard.

My first inclination was to explain this all to him, but then I decided to just answer in the affirmative. Yes, I had the “commodities.”

Wow, did I ever!

“Fine.” He seemed relieved. “I have made two reservations on the QANTAS flying boat due in here tomorrow morning, headed east for the Queensland coast and thence to Sydney. It’s expected in at 0600, be on the water just long enough to take on fuel and be gone. Can you and Mrs. Sheppard be on the float by then?”

No problem; no problem at all!

Our assignment resolved, we were about to leave, and I grabbed the opportunity to ask him about the anticipated landing of the enemy. Everyone in town seemed to be thinking the Japanese would make a landing in the area and soldiers would be in town by the next afternoon. He thought that indications did not support such fears. There had been no sign of the enemy now for more than a day. He himself, officially and personally, felt that such a danger did not exist… at least not for the present.

He had encouraged the QANTAS agent to move his flying boat onward as quickly as possible, nonetheless. The unspoken admonishment was to not be late to the seaplane float in the morning.

Once in the privacy of our own room the door shut out the world and the troubles of the day seemed to depart from her mind. She felt at ease with me, comfortable, safe… and our conversation moved lightly over many topics. She was a good conversationalist and expressed her thoughts easily, even as she struggled with English vocabulary. When I began to hold her close, or do anything to suggest physical intimacy, she fell silent and submissive as had become her way, and followed me like a little kitten. When I held her and lifted her breasts in my hands she moaned and begged me to love her again. Marvelous!

Nevertheless, despite our growing ease with each other, the specter of the approaching Japanese was too close at hand, dominating all about us. After a restless night we were at the seaplane float well in advance and glad to be away for Sydney on time.

Once in inner office of the naval attaché at the Embassy in Canberra the wraps came off the mystery at last.

I asked Annaliese to wait for me as one of the staff ushered me into his office. The naval attaché was a navy captain, and he had been handed the assignment to continue with the project once the Ambassador had understood that the “commodities” were in the custody of a U. S. naval officer. There was a message from the Commander in Chief, U. S. Asiatic Fleet in Java to that end. The captain inquired as to whether I had the “commodities.”

“Yes, sir, I do,” I responded. He had given no sign that he understood the nature of the commodities and what they comprised.

“Where is she right now?” It was an unmistakably direct question, that told me too that he did know.

“She is sitting in your outer office, waiting for me.”

It was immediately evident to me that he was greatly relieved. The pressure was somehow off, and he sat back and asked me in a casual tone what all had gone on in the Indies and how I came to be involved.

After a few sentences he interjected a question. “Nobody told you what this is all about?”

“Well, I thought it was about getting her to safety.” Was there more to it than that? “No one suggested it was anything special, even though the instructions to get to Canberra and report to the embassy struck me as out of the ordinary.” I waited for him to respond. “Am I missing something, captain?”

He considered my question for a moment silently, looking at the papers on his desk.

“Yes, you are. Of course, if nobody briefed you, you could hardly have known.”

Clearly there was a great deal more to this, of which I was not aware. I waited for him to decide to cut me in now.

“She is in great danger. Her family in occupied Denmark is very active in the resistance to the Germans, and her uncle, as I understand it, is a very prominent scientist. The Nazis want her uncle to “cooperate” on some project, but he is a pretty fiery character, and will not. The Nazis can not put pressure on any of his family because they are all incommunicado in the resistance, probably moving back and forth to Sweden, but at any rate out of their reach. A British intelligence report to the NEI government advised them that an agent in Denmark had tipped them off that the Gestapo had discovered his brother living and working for a Dutch oil company in the East Indies. Dutch naval intelligence had a list of known Nazi sympathizers residing in the NEI, and they were suspected to have radio communications with Germany.

“One of them was spotted booking passage on an inter island steamer for Tarakan, and this alerted someone in Java that the local Nazis might be up to some hanky-panky with the brother and the niece. At that point, evidently, an alert went out to get the niece out and away to some safer place.”

“Then,” I offered a connection, “Commander Vermeulen in Tarakan simply made use of the facilities at hand to get her out and away, and I was available. Do I follow?”

“Well, I guess so. What happened to the brother?”

“Her father died of malaria in December. They had a comfortable home there and that’s why the daughter didn’t want to leave. That had been home for several years.” What else should I say at this point?

“And?”

“On our several survey flights throughout the Indies for the admiral I had flown through Tarakan, well, three times through the summer and fall of last year, and,” I wanted this to sound professional, “become acquainted with Miss Andersen.”

“Ah, there’s more to this story than I imagined. Go on.”

“The evening after Commander Vermeulen suggested I assist in some way, I proposed to her. I knew already that I loved her. We had flown a recon of Davao Gulf just days before and we could see the invasion convoys forming up. I figured Tarakan with the oil was a reasonable target, and I wanted her out of there and safe.”

There was a long silence. I had been planning to do something that could get me in trouble, and I didn’t want to put my neck on the block now after the fact.

“And you were going to fly her out to the south in your plane?”

“Well, captain, let’s just say that the idea had occurred to me.”

“All right. Go on.”

“A Dutch civilian official married us the next morning before we left for Balikpapan. I had her in the jump seat next to me in the plane. It worked out fine.”

“Very cozy, lieutenant. Very cozy, indeed. Why did you delay so long at Darwin?”

“Well, for one, nothing had made her movement to you so time sensitive, and I decided to lay over a couple of days to get some maintenance done on the plane. Then the Japs came and that changed everything.”

“Fine. Quite understandable.” His attitude seemed to pass that all off as no longer pertinent. “That’s all water under the bridge now.” He closed thus one book, while opening another. We sat a moment in silence, and I could hear the gears grinding in his head.

“All right. Thank you for your excellent service, lieutenant. Let’s take Mrs. Shepherd with us and go up and see the ambassador.” He rose and led the way. I introduced Annaliese to him and they chatted briefly, and I could see quickly that this was a high point in his day. In a very fatherly tone he asked her playfully if her husband was taking good care of her, and did she like Australia? She replied with a bright smile and he told her that if I was ever mean to her she should let him know… and he would take care of that!

Annaliese was not entirely sure he was joking until he chuckled and then she could smile back.

The captain took us up to see the ambassador and all seemed to move very quickly from there. The captain made some recommendations, the ambassador handed out some revisions and instructions, and his approval. There was a minute of light banter characteristic of professional diplomats and our time with him was over. As we departed I was reasonably sure things had gone well, but could not discern all that went on. They obviously had covered several tangents of the problem unknown to me.

Back in his office things became more evident. The ambassador was pleased and would let the Danish embassy know that Annaliese was safe, and, confidentially, now the wife of an American naval officer. As far as we went, our personal arrangement was thought quite suitable as a cover. There was no way the Gestapo would ever connect the niece in Tarakan with Mrs. Shepherd in Canberra. The marriage would be certificated by the American Embassy, her presence in Australia cleared through immigration, and I would be ordered to duty at the new U. S. Naval Air Facility at Sydney for the duration of the war. My orders would read for additional duty to the Embassy as assistant naval attaché for air and pilot. Mostly, my duty was to blend into the Australian society and make Annaliese comfortable and safe from the intrigues of the Gestapo by hiding her in plain sight.

I could hardly believe my good fortune.

A little stunned, I thanked the captain for his confidence and his support. He said to check in with him once a week and spend my time getting settled and oriented. We would evolve things as we went along and he would use me in several projects in the works.

I thought that was just great.

The Embassy driver dropped us back at the hotel. We had a light dinner in the dining room and talked and I explained what I could about where we were and what would be happening. Many of the details were so very new to her and she was surprised. She knew of her uncle only slightly. They had last been in Denmark in 1935, and she had been only ten years old. We reviewed what all had happened and then what lay before us. A new life was opening up for both of us together, and we were both very excited.

In our absence the captain had had one of the staff order in flowers for the bride, and they greeted us as we returned to our room. She was thrilled and happy, and pleased to be with me, and her smile lit up my heart.

I kissed her lightly, and she melted into my arms.

“Please, Leo,” she whimpered sweetly, “make me yours.” Her eyes were pleading and grateful and loving and wanting… “Make me, like you did on the beach, please!”

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