Andrea Donovan Pt. 05

-The phone in my breast pocket suddenly alerted me of an incoming text message which I ignored.

Battle damaged B-17's had been notorious for bringing back their aircrews, alive. Bombers so heavily damaged that they should not have been able to fly at all were sometimes flown hundreds of miles to land safely home again. Some of them had been so badly shot-up that they literally left jagged pieces of aluminum trailing within their wakes as they limped home "Flying Junkyards" someone had once called them. It really was no wonder to me why so many of the bombers had been adorned with nose art depicting angels...

The aircrews, themselves, were often said to have lived in two completely different worlds simultaneously. In the air they had faced the constant strain of combat against a ruthless and determined enemy, all within a barbaric and high speed savagery. The further the Allied Forces advanced into Germany, the longer and more dangerous the missions for the bombers became. Yet once safely home on the ground in England, the aircrews had often been afforded the luxury of hot showers, clean Uniforms and the opportunity to bicycle into nearby towns or hamlets where they could attend dances and intermingle with some of the local English girls and relax, often accompanied with a nice hot meal and even a chance for tipping a few cold beers. The next day they might be dead, spinning toward the earth in a disintegrating bomber. There had been no chivalry during the air war over Europe that was a myth of Hollywood.

..."The Yank's are oversexed, overpaid and over-HERE!" had been the English mantras, once the American airmen had begun arriving into England in large droves. Yet as the war against Hitler had continued to grind onward, year after year, English families had begun to board and take-in some of the American Servicemen and eventually calling them their own. The mantras that the English populous had used to describe the Americans slowly evolved from "The damn Yank's" to "They're OUR Yank's." Some of these young airmen had eventually taken English wives as a result.

-I briefly caught the sound of Andrea's laughter over the drone of engines as she talked with Allen from behind me. I'd recognize Andrea's laughter from anywhere, I smiled to myself.

...First Lieutenant Lake Millhouse had finished flight school and then been assigned to the aircrew of a brand-new Boeing B-17 in late November of nineteen forty two, which they had then been ordered to fly from the Arizona Desert to England the following Monday via several fuel stops. The crew members had then been granted a three day pass upon earning their wings and had subsequently found themselves at a barnyard dance somewhere in Northern California where all of them had proceeded to get abominably drunk, Lake Millhouse included.

Once in England, Lake had begun receiving letters and photos from a petite and extremely attractive Cherokee girl living in Phoenix Arizona which he couldn't remember, try as he might. Andrea told me that her mother had often conveyed the story that Lake had asked her to dance and then promptly thrown-up all over her new shoes while apologizing, profusely. The awkwardness of their first meeting hadn't mattered; the Indian girl had already been completely smitten with the dashing young aviator and wrote to him faithfully every day after that...

"Transferring to inboard tanks now, Captain" Kenny suddenly said over the intercom.

"Affirmative, Kenny, thank you" John replied.

...Glancing at the altimeter now I noticed that we had slowly and inadvertently climbed an additional seventy five feet, I gently pushed Alice Mae's nose down just a touch until we were back at ten thousand feet level again, I then glanced briefly at the artificial horizon and looked forward again.

"Good, Tim! I was just about to say something to you" John nodded at me.

I nodded an affirmation and was then abruptly tapped on my left arm and quickly looked over my left shoulder, Andrea was filming me, I smiled at her and then immediately turned my attention forward again. My palms were sweating now and I had goose bumps on my arms. ...My God, I thought, this is exactly where Lake had sat when he had flown the B-17's "Marvelous Margaret" and "Party Gal" - this is exactly what he had heard and seen when in flight.

John silently pointed to my three o'clock.

...I looked up and to my right in time to see the blue nose and propeller of a P-51D Mustang as it slowly pulled alongside and just ahead of us.

"Good morning Captain, good solid ship you have there, no exterior problems that I can see. You should have smooth sailing all the way to the great State of Texas today" now crackled over the headset.

"Affirmative, Tom. We have Captain Tim Donovan assisting us with the controls today. Your aircraft appears airworthy as well." John replied, leaning toward me and looking up.

"Roger, I'll let you get on then, see you at the barn, sir" came the answer.

"Fly safe, Tom, and thanks for checking on us" John replied, still looking up at the Mustang.

"Godspeed, Alice Mae" I heard over the headset. Looking up again, I saw the pilot snap a salute; he then reined the Mustang sharply to starboard and flew swiftly away.

John had just referred to me as "Captain Tim Donovan" when he'd spoken to his comrade "Tom" - I surmised that this was because the two had been speaking over public airways and not Alice Mae's intercom, ...well I WAS Captain for the moment, figuratively anyway, I thought to myself. I had flown Alice Mae for a grand total of about fifteen minutes when John informed me that we would be needing to make a turn to "port" shortly and that I probably needed to let Allen have his seat back. I nodded an affirmation, removing my headphones and carefully making my way aft again.

Allen patted my shoulder and mouthed the words "Good job" I returned the pat and said "Thank you."

The distance between Tucson Arizona and Odessa Texas, our destination, was just over five hundred air miles, I had been told. Our cruising speed had been, just under, two hundred miles an hour and, all too soon it seemed, we were lining up on final approach to a private airstrip owned by the oil company. John and Allen brought Alice Mae down gracefully and soon we were taxiing up to a small warehouse, complete with hardstand and surrounded with several yellow pick-up trucks and a multitude of smiling oil workers with cameras, the arrival of Alice Mae was always a spectacle. After run-down with engines, an outside attendant opened the rear door and all of us proceeded to exit the aircraft, following Andrea.

The bombays of Alice Mae had been riveted shut during her restoration so all of us pitched in and helped unload the delicate calibration instruments through the rear door. These expensive tools were then quickly whisked away in one of the yellow pick-up trucks. A ceremonial photography session then took place with one of the oil executives passing a twelve thousand dollar check to John for the museum. John, Allen and Kenny then posed for several more photos along with the oil executives in front of Alice Mae's nose art. Currently, I was still shaking from the adrenaline rush of having lived out a fantasy which I had carried with me since early childhood. Andrea noticed this and took me aside from the others now.

"Just remember that you belong to me and not her, besides, you can't take her to bed with you" Andrea smiled, in regard to Alice Mae.

"My God, woman, I don't know how many favors you had to call-in to arrange this but it's going to be one of the most memorable days of my life, thank you Andrea Millhouse" I replied in exasperation while pulling her close to me and kissing her forehead, still trembling.

"My name isn't Andrea Millhouse - it's Andrea Donovan, now" Andrea said gently, wiping my brow of sweat and then kissing me on the lips.

"Guys, let's go eat" Kenny called out to Andrea and I now, and interrupting us. He then motioned us us to follow him.

Andrea and I were introduced to two of the oil executives as we walked toward the row of yellow pick-up trucks. We soon found ourselves in the back seat of a bright yellow crew-cab with Kenny, while John and Allen sat up front. The driver, whose name was Fred, talked excitedly about the arrival of Alice Mae and what a pleasure it was for the oil company to donate to the museum. He then gestured vaguely out the window and rattled off several statistics that were related to the oilfield we were currently passing. As we drove down the dirt road now I looked out the passenger window at the dusty windswept plains of Texas and saw dozens and dozens of large black cricket pumps, or "Nodding Donkeys" as they were sometimes called but I couldn't focus on any of Fred's conversation, I was still coming down from the adrenaline rush of having flown a B-17 with my wife present. I still had the harmonious drone of Alice Mae's R1820 engines humming in my ears.

Many of the Wright Cyclone R1820 engines, which powered the B-17, had been built under license by The Studebaker Corporation, which my Grandfather had been employed with during the war. Thinking back now, I seemed to recall that Studebaker had produced over sixty four thousand of the engines for the B-17 and various other aircraft. I couldn't help but wonder if any of the parts on Alice Mae's engines had come off my Grandfather's assembly line. Anything is possible, I thought to myself, glancing out the window again at all of the nodding donkeys as they slowly and methodically continued pumping the "Black Gold" as it was referred to, here in Texas.

...A few minutes later, Fred parked the yellow crew-cab outside a fancy steakhouse and all six of us exited the vehicle, Andrea and I hand in hand. Looking up at the sun, I reckoned that it was nigh on to high noon now and I suddenly realized that I was very hungry. The steakhouse was obviously a high end establishment and was currently slammed with customers; however, Fred reassured us that we had reservations as we walked through the parlor door and into the loud din of comradeship and clinking silverware so common in a busy and well liked restaurant.

We were quickly escorted to a long table by an attractive girl adorned with a uniformed shirt displaying the restaurant's logo imposed over a red, white and blue map of Texas. Introductions were then made all around to the rest of the group, already waiting for us, which included two more of the oil company's executives and a young couple from Sydney Australia who were smiling widely. They had just tied the knot a few days prior and were now on their honeymoon.

"I'm Jamie and this is my wife Alice May." The man said proudly in a thick accent as we all shook hands.

"Alice May, M-A-Y, Jamie and Alice May House" The girl said to us proudly as she looked onward at her husband with stars in her eyes.

Apparently the young couple was as passionate about vintage aircraft as the rest of us seated were and had booked passage with us aboard Alice Mae for the return leg of the journey, months ago. Andrea and Alice May found that they had a mutual love for horses while Jamie and I began talking about the Australian Road Trains and World War Two aircraft. The entire group of us eventually ordered our lunch and continued in relaxed and easy conversation on all the topics usually associated with a good meal among comrades.

"Was Alice Mae really that much different than a Peterbilt, Tim?" Allen now asked, leaning close to me.

I hesitated a moment in thought and then replied with "Yes and no, really, Allen. If you're ever in Alaska during the summer and want to find out, look me up, you can drive mine" I replied. This was an invitation I had extended exactly three other times in the thirty seven years that I had owned the truck.

"I may take you up on that" Allen replied solemnly.

"I would be honored to let either you or John take the wheel, sir. ...My palms are still sweaty and I haven't stopped shaking yet, Allen" I admitted in a low voice.

"I've co-piloted that aircraft over thirty times now, Tim, and my palms still sweat" Allen confided in me with a nod.

...The ten of us had a fabulous lunch, complete with coffee afterward. There was an excitement and air of electricity around the table so common among like minded people with a definite passion in a mutual interest. John, seated at the head of the table as guest of honor, now proposed a toast to the museum's contributors and volunteers and also to the great ship Alice Mae. Several photos were taken for the oil company's monthly magazine and one more toast was proposed for the newly married couple, Jamie and Alice May.

An hour and half later, all of us rose from the table and began preparations for the drive back to the sun baked runway of the oilfield. Phone numbers had been exchanged and new friends had been made among all during the meal. The oil company picked up our tab and our waitresses received generous tips and words of praise. We were soon aboard Alice Mae once more and climbing into the wide open Texas sky with Jamie and Alice May now onboard with us and smiling widely. Our stomachs were full, our bombays empty and all of us reveling in the euphoric lore' of flight.

...Alice Mae gently touched the earth in Tucson Arizona again at exactly six o'clock that evening. Shutting down the two outboard engines, John gently taxied the bomber up to the open door of a large hanger inside the museum's compound, aided by a young attendant signaling with two red flags in front of the aircraft. Once the bomber was fully onto the hardstand, the attendant waved the two flags in a criss-cross motion in front of himself. Alice Mae's remaining two engines immediately fell silent.

"Nice job, Gentlemen!" I said loudly as I rose off my seat, assisting Andrea.

The seven of us exited the B-17 and formed a loose circle, shaking hands and recalling some of the day's events. Alice Mae was scheduled for maintenance and a crew of several men was already in the process of removing the engine cowlings, these were museum volunteers devoted to the upkeep of several of the museum's vintage war birds. Andrea and Alice May traded phone numbers and after I shook Kenny and Jamie's hands I took John and Allen aside from the others and gave them heartfelt thanks for their show of faith in me and letting me pilot Alice Mae.

"A husband of Andrea's is a friend of the museum's" John said simply.

"I want to drive that big black Peterbilt, next summer, Tim. You can thank me then" Allen replied, shaking my hand firmly.

...Andrea and I took turns driving the hour and twenty minutes back to Arizona City. We arrived at the Ranch at around eight o'clock and went directly to bed. We had been up since four A.M. and it felt very good indeed to crawl into bed with my wife. Ricky and Brenda were not present at the ranch at the moment and the only ones that had greeted Andrea's and my arrival had been Yogi, Stormy and Wolfie.

"Thank you for the wonderful birthday present, Andrea Millhouse, I love you" I said pulling her close.

"My name isn't Andrea Millhouse" she replied, pushing herself closer to me.

I was already asleep and dreaming of Alice Mae as she flew through my mind like an ambient cloud with the tranquil sound of radial engines droning in my ears, my beautiful bride beside me...

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More to follow...