Chapter 90

"She's sitting on my 'chute!" Ooo, Pissed Grace. "Seaman," she squinted at the name tag of the cringing Girl in the Back ... a genuine GIB. "Black. Did you just get excited all over my 'chute?"

A deer in the headlights look ran across her face, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Are you sorry?"

"No, Ma'am. It was wonderful! The best good time I ever had by myself," Seaman Black said, "I'd do it again ... in a minute. I want to fly like this."

"David? Get out. Leave the 'chute." Grace waited until I had complied. She grabbed my 'chute. "Seaman Black? Front seat. Snap to it, young lady."

And so it goes. Grace, who can't see over the nose from the back and is unable to reach the pedals without her special shoes, sat in the back seat while Seaman Black flew the plane.

Sometimes, Hey, Ya'll watch this works.

On other occasions it's time to throw the rubber sheet over the mattress in the back of the pickup to keep the blood pooled in one spot on the way to the hospital.

Seaman Black did, indeed, know how to fly ... and she had no idea Grace wouldn't ... couldn't ... take over ... if there were problems. Grace was impressed.

The base Commander was, however ... shall we say ... livid?

"The sooner you two ... officers ... are off my base, the better."

The disdain present in his pronunciation of the word officers managed to make it a dirty word ... similar to fucking idiot or mentioning that we had only one locatable ancestor and she never married. We were careless children, unfit to grace his base with our presence.

He sent us to the base psychiatrist ... who sent us back with the words, "They're pilots, fer chrissake, what did you expect." and, "They exhibit all the bravado expected of combat pilots, Captain, along with an IQ that tops the charts. Between the two, they easily top 400 combined. My recommendation is that the Navy should do everything in its power to keep them. They are brilliant."

He wrote that second part in our Field Service Records.

By the time the petty tumultuous discussion was over, the carrier was back from her ten day workup and pilot flight deck qualifications. The Bonhomme Richard was loading out for Hawaii, Guam, United States Navy base, Yokosuka, in Japan and other ports west of the Dateline.

What the hell. Grace and I dressed in our Blues. It was September and the Uniform of the Day had changed. Corralling our pet Ensign, we approached the forward brow, climbed the long gangplank. Carlie Hanks first, I came next and Grace came last.

With Carlie running interference for us we managed to meet with the Exec and explained our problem: recalcitrant officers and over zealous customs agents. But we also mentioned excellent Marine Sergeants, family Generals and retired Admirals ... and Dwight David "Ike" Eisenhower ... who we had never met but who knew who we were ... and liked us.

"A Marine Sergeant ... in the Canal Zone?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Have a seat," He made a call. We waited.

There was a bit of protocol outside the Execs office. The door opened.

"Come in, Sergeant. These children claim they know you. Do they?"

"Yes, Sir. I arrested them in the Zone."