Cynthia Cartier - Wings

“Fair enough,” he said as he grinned and grabbed his chute. Together they walked in from the flight line, making that comfortable small talk that Liddy had remembered, line by line. At the dining hall, they parted and she walked into the building, while Major Trent walked back to the administration building. Louise had been watching the door and perked up when she saw Liddy enter. The women snuck off after supper, and Liddy recounted the flight, including every last detail.

The trainees were in their bays suffering through a Texas heat wave and had stripped down to their bras and panties. Two electric fans spun on either end of their bay and they were sprawled out to catch the breeze. Each of them took turns reading a letter that Calli had written to all of them and then they shared their mail that came from graduated WASPs.

“Listen to this,” said Louise. “Higgins and Lang are instructing male cadets and Hadie Gale is towing targets and running strafe missions—”

“Strafe missions?” Marina questioned.

“They dive at the troops…” Louise folded the pages she was reading to use them to reenact the mission, “… that are at training campouts, and the men track the planes with their guns to simulate combat conditions, shooting live ammo at targets they’re towing.”

“Targets in the air?” Bet scrunched up her nose.

“Long muslin tubes. And the pilots dump boxes of tin foil balls out of the cockpit to mess up the radar,” Louise explained.

“Legalized buzzing, that’s aces,” said Marina.

“Wrap me up in a huge hunk of dreamy airship—Bombers. Oh, how I hope I get Bombers,” Joy Lynn wished dreamily.

“Knew you were the Cadillac type first time I laid eyes on you, Louise too—big planes, powerful, but stable like her,” said Liddy.

“Now you, Miss Hall, are the fast little sports car type, down the line. Fast little machines that are more likely to catch up than be caught,” said Joy Lynn.

“What about me?” Bet asked.

“Now you’re a puzzle. Not too big, not too fast. I predict copters may be in your future,” teased Liddy.

Bet shuddered at the thought and changed the subject. “What’s Jenna say, Liddy?”

Liddy scanned the letter in front of her, “She said she’s been picking up new planes off the factory floor and doing occasional swaps between bases.”

“Read it, Lid,” requested Bet.

Liddy moved back to the top and read, “‘Dear Liddy, Hope all is well for the unwashed. We WASP out in the world wish you all a hidey-ho from the sky. Enjoy Avenger while you can. Sweetwater is an icebox compared to Palm Springs. It was like being on the moon with trees (very few trees) and the sun seemed to hang directly over the place like a big huge light bulb. After six weeks of training, I was so glad to leave that place, I jitter-bugged out the door.

Me and two other gals were flown to Delaware in an old cargo plane that looked like it had been shot up pretty good and then patched and spackled. She was big and heavy. You really have to marvel at the magic of the air’s action and reaction that the thing could float. We boarded with a couple dozen enlisted men just out of Basic. The lot of us were squished in between pallets of rations and what looked like sections of a troop glider. None of it looked to be too well battened down, so we really relied on the pilot to keep it smooth. He did, and we made it to Delaware safe and sound. The day we arrived at New Castle base, we were sent out on our first run. We were with four other women who knew the ropes, but for some reason, I was still nervous—’”

“Jenna Law nervous, that I’d like to see,” said Joy Lynn.

“‘We’ve been up every day, except Sunday. We’ve been flying mostly new planes off the factory to one of the coasts for shipment, but sometimes we move ships between bases for training. We delivered Mustangs two days ago and what a looker and a thrill. We weren’t supposed to punch it past 250, but I clocked 300 and one of the gals, Teresa Hinton, she’s a hot ticket, jumped ahead and claimed she hit a hundred more than that. Just got the call to mount-up, so I’ve got to go. We’re headed out to move some PTs to Arizona. Tell everyone I said to hang in there. Jenna.’”

Liddy folded the letter and the gals sat back and imagined life out in civilization and listened to the whip of the fan blades. Joy Lynn noticed the uninterrupted run of tan skin that started from Marina’s hair line and disappeared under her bra and panties. “Uptown, will you explain to me how you have avoided the wonderful sun rings the rest of us are sporting?”

Cross Country flights in open cockpits tanned the women’s skin but only where the sun could shine, so they were patched up like cream and brown quilts, except for Marina.

Louise’s eyes widened and she dropped her jaw in a gaping smile and chuckled. “You’re not?” She looked at Marina.

“Not what?” asked Bet.

“I can’t believe you.” Louise tossed a magazine at Marina.

“What? What?” Bet begged to know.

“The cockpit striptease,” Louise answered.

“Hey, take it off.” Marina taunted. “Well, not everything.” She picked up her bra strap to show the white strip that was hidden underneath. “It’s cooler, and you might as well get some benefit out of those long rides.” Marina snapped the strap to her shoulder.

“Girl, you coulda said somethin’ sooner. Next time I hit the beach I’m gonna look like an Easter egg,” said Joy Lynn.

“Striptease in the cockpit?” Bet still didn’t get it.

The women got to choose their squadron for their next cross country drill. So, the baymates went out together. Once they were up, they stripped off their shirts and the wind dried the sweat on their skin before it had a chance to drip.

Formation flying and instruments were the skills to hone on these runs. Most of the trainees had little to no experience in either. But the real appeal of these flights was that they refueled at another base before they returned to Avenger. The change of scenery was welcome, especially since the scenery wasn’t crawling with women but with men. It was also an opportunity to leave their zoot suits in their lockers. Flight jackets, general’s pants and white shirts were the required dress for these trips, which made them feel almost feminine in the pit.

Liddy found that formation flying brought out cautiousness in her that she’d never known when she flew. Some gals would get squirrely and she didn’t always trust their skills. So, she tended to be the party pooper in the pack. She liked being up with Louise on these trips, since she was reasonable and a faithful back-up. Louise spotted a group of planes flying toward them and called over the radio to the others, “Company, HPs. Suit up!”

“Who is it?” Liddy asked.

“Looks like a Navy Squadron. Hoping for a peak no doubt,” answered Louise.

Bet saw the planes getting closer and panicked as she wrestled with her shirt that was flying free in the wind. The wind flapped it from her grasp and into the sky. She called frantically to Liddy, “Liddy, I lost my shirt.”

“What?” said Liddy.

“My shirt flew out of the cockpit, it’s gone,” whimpered Bet.

The gals all heard the dilemma over the radio and were laughing.

“Hey, you guys, it’s not funny. What am I going to do?”

“Do you have your flight jacket?” asked Liddy.

“No it’s in the back. What am I going to do?”

“Calm down. It’s okay. When we fly in we’ll get your jacket for you,” Liddy assured Bet.

“What about the Navy boys?” Bet asked.

“You move to the middle and I’ll peel off and play a little follow the leader. Louie, go on ahead and I’ll catch up. Louise will land first and get your jacket for you.”

Liddy fell out of formation and waited for the Navy planes to pull alongside, then peeled off leading the flyboys away from her squad. She picked them up on the radio and called out, “Hello, boys, I’m here to instruct you in dog fighting 101.”

“We’re not here for a lesson.”

“Well you’re gonna get one.”

Liddy dropped down and rolled away from the squad. The Navy boys accepted the challenge and rolled out after her. She was flying topside of one of the flyers and he tried to roll over her. She rolled the other way and gained the upper position.

“So, you like to be on top, hey, Army?”

“Much better view,” Liddy said.

She gave those boys a wild ride that day. The planes tumbled and rolled until Liddy pulled up alongside their commander and called out, “Hate to leave you all alone out here, but I gotta get back on course.”

“Nice flying, Army.” The pilot snapped a salute and peeled away.

Liddy was correcting her course when she grabbed her radio and dialed in her squad, “Avenger 77, I’m headed your way—” Sparks snapped like the fourth of July from underneath the panel. “Dammit.”

Liddy dropped the receiver and it bounced around the floor of the cockpit. When the sparks died down, she reeled the mike in by the cord and then clicked in over and over, but the radio was gone. When she tossed it into the panel out of frustration, she noticed that her instruments were not registering. She tapped and then pounded the dials, but the tags bounced lifeless at the rims.

The sun was sinking on the horizon, and the wind whipped a screech around the base. Major Trent stood in front of the day’s flight boards, which were cleared off except for Liddy’s name.

Kyle Dixon jogged to the boards and asked, “Hall still isn’t in yet?”

“No. Did you check Hobs?” Trent asked.