If you haven’t already done so please read the Introduction to this book, first. It will be helpful to better understand these sample episode extracts.
The Thule Girls – The Crew
Master Sergeant Jerry Jordan, seeking refuge from the hooting, applauding men in the plane fled into the cockpit and slammed the door. The pilot, Major Ted Orson, stared at the horizon trying not to laugh. “Well Sergeant, how goes the war?” he asked.
Copilot, Captain Bob Brown and flight engineer, Lieutenant Dick Johnson, broke out laughing, glancing up at the perspiring young man who leaned, with his hands behind him, against the cockpit door, gasping for air.
“I came to see if you would like me to bring your lunch sir,” the Sergeant puffed, staring at the back of the Major’s head, paying no attention to the other officers.
Ignoring the Sergeant’s lunch question, the Major shouted, “What in the hell was all that commotion back there in the head? I waited ten minutes to get in there and finally had to come back here and use the ‘pee can’. Someone said you were in the head, Sergeant. Was there a problem with the plumbing?”
“Well, what was the problem, Sergeant? There were some strange sounds coming from that area of the aircraft.”
“One of the lady musicians became ill and I had to assist her. It took a few minutes. The noise you heard could have been her vomiting. She was quite ill.”
“I understand Sergeant. It was good of you to help her.” The navigation flight engineer snickered as Jerry Jordan continued to breathe heavily, perspiring in the cold cockpit.
“Why don’t you stay here in the ‘Pit’ with us for a few minutes, Sergeant,” Major Orson suggested, shouting above the roar of the propellers. “You might find it easier to serve lunch when everybody is seated again. Sit over there at the map table. Dick, give the Sergeant your seat. You go check on the head. Make sure no one else is sick.”
The grinning flight engineer zipped up his wool jacket and disappeared through the door.
“Thank you sir,” Jerry said, seating himself at the small table. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, the Crew Chief wiped his face and hair, trying to regain his composure.
The Major continued, “I hear you had a problem boarding one of the musicians, Sergeant. What was that all about?”
“The problem was with the bass player in the jazz trio,” Jerry answered somewhat defensively. “She has a very expensive bass fiddle, and she was concerned that it might crack, or get broken if it was stowed in cargo. She assured me that if something like that happened she wouldn’t be able to perform. I worked it out. We strapped it in the seat behind the cockpit. It appears to be secure and she seems to be relieved.” To hear himself defending Rhonda surprised the fidgeting Sergeant. Speaking about her at all made him perspire again. His tee shirt and his uniform jacket were damp. He had left his heavy jacket back at the food station when he came hurtling out of the head.
“Which one of the girls was sick?” Major Orson wanted to know.
“And which one of the girls is she?” the Major asked, coughing to cover his laughter.
“Uh… Rhonda Reeves is the bass player with the jazz trio.” Jerry’s shorts were moist and clinging to him. He was extremely uncomfortable. He thought he knew where the Major’s conversation was going.
“Well Sergeant, this Rhonda Reeves must be very grateful to you for securing her bass and putting her mind at ease.”
“Uh… yes sir.”
A rivulet of icy perspiration ran down the Crew Chief’s back making a tiny dam in his shorts. He was out of uniform because the tipsy Italian girl still had his cap. He had to get dry and warm or he’d be sick, sure as hell. He pressed his back into the soft leather chair, rubbing against it hoping his tee shirt would absorb some of his perspiration. Everything had happened so fast. He was just trying to serve those god-damned box lunches, when, there she was sitting on his leg rubbing him, breathing on him, kissing him, pouring twenty year Scotch down him, dragging him into the head and then ka-boom! Man was she ready. She was hot. She really wanted it….
“I beg your pardon sir?”
The Major repeated hoarsely, “I said, you have a lot of responsibility, dealing with the female entertainers they send up to Thule. I imagine it can be quite a trial sometimes, especially when one of them gets sick. I hear female musicians are fragile.”
“I think that’s probably true,” the Sergeant replied.
Flight Engineer, Dick Johnson returned to the cockpit, announcing that it was “all clear”.
“Okay, Sergeant, things seem to be under control again,” Major Orson announced, smiling at the horizon, “I think you should serve lunch now. We’ll hope no further emergencies arise.”
“Yes sir,” Jerry answered, saluting the back of the Major’s head. As he closed the door he could hear laughter coming from inside the cockpit.