W E B Griffin – Men at War 2 – Secret Warriors

“I think I should have told Ann to take a cab,” Sarah said “This is nearly out of gas, and I don’t have any more ration coupons.”

“Then buy some on the black market,” Charity said. “Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Sarah said.

“My God, Charity, my husband is a naval officer.”

“What’s that got to do with being out of gas?”

“If you can’t figure that out, I certainly couldn’t explain it to you,” Sarah said coldly.

At the airport, Charity Hoc he went into the terminal to meet Ann while Sarah and the baby waited in the car. When Charity reappeared with Ann, there was a Marine officer Ann had picked up on the plane to carry her bags. “I promised the lieutenant we’d drive him into town,” Ann said.

They drove back across the Potomac into Washington and dropped Ann’s bag carrier at the Temporary Navy Department buildings across from the Smithsonian. “Now what?” Ann asked. “We go to Bolling Field to meet Doug Doug lass,” Sarah said. “Praying that we don’t run out of gas.”

“Out of ration coupons?” Ann asked. “And, my God, don’t suggest buying black-market gas,” Charity said. “Sarah will turn you in as a Nazi agent,” “Well, if it gets to push and shove,” Ann said, “she’ll just have to swallow her patriotism. I’ve got coupons for twenty gallons. “Where’d you get them? ” “Journalism is an essential occupation,” Ann said.

“I stole them from my city editor.”

“You two may think you’re clever,” Sarah said, “but I don’t.”

“Amazing, isn’t it,” Ann said, “what marriage does to a girl? One moment she’s making backseat whoopee with sailors, and the next she’s delivering lectures on patriotic duty.” I was about to say something I would have later regretted, Sarah thought. But these are my best friends in the world, Ann especially. “Sailor,” Sarah said.

“Singular. One sailors” But I will not put black-market gas in this car, if we have to walk back to the hotel.

Getting into Bolling Field wasn’t as easy as they’d expected. The captain they went to had orders that only journalists on his list-they’d hoped Ann’s press card would see them waved through-were to be admitted.

But Ann finally charmed the captain into passing her in as a guest and not as a journalist.

There was a chain-link fence beside the base operations building, and Sarah pulled the Cadillac’s nose against it. Then, because she had a Naval Dependent’s ID card, Sarah went into base operations to ask what they knew about the arrival of an Air Corps plane from Selma, Alabama.

Very politely they told her they could not give out that information to her, dependent or not. “What do we want to know?” Charity asked when Sarah returned to the car and told them she hadn’t been able to do any good. “The ETA of a P-38 inbound from Selma, Alabama,” Ann furnished.

“The ETA of a P-38 inbound from Selma, Alabama,” Charity parroted, obviously committing that to memory. Then she got out of the Cadillac and walked toward base operations. Five minutes later she was back.

“An Air Corps P-38, probably ours,” she announced, “has called in extending his ETA by forty-five minutes. He should be on the ground in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“How did you do that?” Sarah asked. “She kept brushing lint off her boobs,” Ann said.

“Right?”

“That, too,” Charity said.

“But I think what really got to him was the way I kept licking my lips.

” “You two are disgusting!” Sarah said. Five minutes later, there was unusual activity on the field. Two red fire engines, what looked like a water truck, an ambulance, and several pickup trucks, all with flashing red lights, raced across the field and stationed themselves on either side of the main runway. “I don’t like the look of that,” Ann said seriously. “What does this airplane we’re looking for look like?”

Charity asked. “A P-3 8,” Ann said.

“It has twin engines and a dual tail structure.”

“Like that?” Charity asked, pointing. “Like that,” Ann said. A P-38, its polished aluminum skin glistening in the bright sunlight, straightened up from a steep bank and lined up with the runway.