Down Jersey Drive-shaft

Chapter Eighteen: Surrender All Who Are Victorious

"Oh, the best! We quarreled years earlier during my time in England, flight training at Upavon, long before this war. Mechanic, poker player...lush. But she could fly an airplane in her sleep. On the ride to the hangar, I had word that she and others were there. By the time we got there..."

Pause. The igloo loses time. Skinny eyes the Canadians after realizing Wilkes is too gone to speak.

"Well! What? She got killed by Slicks? Remodulated?"

Teller clears his throat. "We got greeted immediately by the ST goons. But, they weren't scientists or mechanics. The hangar held the cross-engineered planes. The girls were slated to fly them to Salem in a few days. But, the Slicks showed. We can't guess how Motherville knew, only that she did. One Slick two nights before!" He raises a fist.

"Yes," Wilkes returns to life. "Three nights before. I spoke to Kathy on the radio. Her smoky voice, the reminiscing, the laughs. We met those men in black uniforms, not learned men..."

"Kill squad," Gillette whispers. He punches a wall.

"Coursey got the word so fast. Had his goons gun the whole hand-picked assembly of female pilots down. Shots to the head, all five. We panicked, too late on the scene to change anything... "

"'Show us this capsule' we demanded!" Gillette shrieks. "Do autopsies! Prove this is not some assassination by Axis agents! The sight! Had us out of our minds!"

Wilkes gets up. He approaches Skinny, an affectionate hand cusps the big guy's neck. "Every lady had a black, ugly capsule in her stomach. You could even hear them, static gurgling in their...their guts. But Kathy..." He wipes his eyes.

"Rats! They just assumed all were compromised!"

Skinny holds the corporal's forearm. "I'm sorry, Brother. Was she....?"

"We were never legally divorced, you see. Too contentious to be under one roof, too connected to find other loves. We hadn't seen one another face-to-face in over three years, what with the war between us. To see her on that metal table! I've never in my life...!" He makes a tactical retreat for the door.

But the door opens for him, letting in a very snappy Mechanic Crank. Her pitch black locks are tied up in a scarlet rag knotted over her temple, and she's down to a black tank top and uniform pants. Rags dangle from the back pockets. Ruby red lipstick shines between a marble face smudged by grease. Wilkes may be on the emotional run, but Crank's belting out the jazz, loud music backing her up.

She hits the fridge as Wilkes exits. She doesn't notice. Too busy swinging.

"All that meat and no potatoes,

Just ain't right, like greeeeeeen tomatoes!"

Crank relieves the fridge from bearing the burden of a plate of meatballs she concocted the previous midnight. All the while, she's jigging and raising up on her tiptoes, singing badly, strangled cat, as the boys wait in their discomfort.

"Here I'm waitin', palpitating!

All that meat and noooooooo potatooooooes!"

"Could at least try to imitate singin', Doll!" Larry can't help himself.

Crank stuffs her mouth with food, her big eyes swell. "Oh! Nu nyes hab bun here d'ole dyme?" She barely chews., gulping down meat to make way for another helping. "Mmm! Nu wun sum, g'hed n' dig'n!" Fork shovels a trench into the plate. Scrape. Eat. Scrape!

Walter taps his foot as the playful piano keys of Fats Waller goes on out the door. Wilkes is gone, leaving the igloo an emotional desert. Skinny heads for Crank, takes a big hand to scruff up her 'do.