with this guy. I don’t want to have to walk back.”
“If we can even find our way back,” muttered Charlie.
Six tiny tables were pushed to the side of the store, making it look like an Asian version of a Paris cafe. The screen door had a tiny bell attached to it. Inside, a long counter ran the entire length of one wall. Music came from an open door to the back; someone was singing “Obla-dee, obla-da” along with the Beatles.
The singing stopped as a girl walked into the room from the back. All Bruce could see was dark hair that extended halfway to the floor. When she swung her hair around and looked up, Bruce was floored, unable to talk. She was the most beautiful woman he’d seen in his life.
The girl lowered her eyes. She spoke in halting English. “May I … help you?”
Bruce stuttered, trying to talk coherently. “Uh, yeah. Do you have any gum?”
“Gun?” The girl looked up, puzzled.
“No, gum. You know, chewing gum? Chew, chew.” Bruce pantomimed putting a stick of gum in his mouth and chewing. He felt suddenly foolish at his Pidgin English.
She still avoided his eyes. “Gum. Yes we have.” The girl turned and stretched, reaching to the top shelf, and brought down several packs of Wrigley’s gum, some of them open. She held them out to Bruce. “How many sticks?”
The girl finally looked at him, and he felt lost in her deep brown eyes. Her skin was flawless; she looked so innocent he couldn’t tell her age. It took Bruce a moment to figure out what she was asking.
“How many sticks? Oh, you mean I can buy just a stick of gum, rather than a pack?”
“Yes.” The girl seemed amused now.
“Well, then … here.” Bruce dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of pesos. He shoved the money to the girl. “I’ll take all the gum. Is this enough money?” The foreign currency seemed more like play money—Monopoly bills—than hard cash.
The girl carefully counted out the money and held out the remainder to Bruce. As she counted, her long black hair fell over her shoulder, giving it the appearance of a waterfall. She pushed eleven packs of gum across the counter to him, then swung her hair back over her shoulder and lowered her eyes.
Bruce backed out of the tiny store. The screen door swung shut, cutting off his view of the young woman. He didn’t know how long he stood there, but Charlie’s voice seemed to pierce through a fog that enveloped him.
“Hey, Bruce! Would you get back in here? The O’Club is going to close.”
Bruce turned and headed for the jeepney. Reaching out to grab the railing, he realized that he still tightly held the packs of gum. He shoved them into a pocket.
Charlie eyed his frontseater as the jeepney started off. “Get enough gum?”
“Umm? Yeah … sure.” Bruce turned back to watch the traffic. He kept to himself the rest of the trip.
Headquarters, Thirteenth Air Force
Clark AB
The Commander of the Thirteenth Air Force reported directly to the Commander of the Pacific Air Forces, which was headquartered at Hickam AFB, Hawaii. Pacific Air Forces were responsible for the security of an area nearly four times the breadth of the United States—twelve thousand miles—a region that spanned seventeen time zones including the Philippine Islands. And with the reopening of Clark, fueled by national strategy change of “pivot to the East,” Thirteenth Air Force was reactivated, and its operational units were augmented by squadrons rotated in from Seymour Johnson, Elmendorf, Eglin and Langley.
As such, Major General Peter Simone, Commander of the Thirteenth Air Force, was literally on his own. With the exception of a three-star general at Yokota AFB, Japan, and another one at Osan AFB, Korea, Simone was the highest-ranking officer for a thousand miles.
Discounting fleet operations at the newly reopened Subic Naval Base, just fifty miles down the road.
But that was Navy, and therefore didn’t matter.
Simone had short, wirelike hair, dark ebony
“If we can even find our way back,” muttered Charlie.
Six tiny tables were pushed to the side of the store, making it look like an Asian version of a Paris cafe. The screen door had a tiny bell attached to it. Inside, a long counter ran the entire length of one wall. Music came from an open door to the back; someone was singing “Obla-dee, obla-da” along with the Beatles.
The singing stopped as a girl walked into the room from the back. All Bruce could see was dark hair that extended halfway to the floor. When she swung her hair around and looked up, Bruce was floored, unable to talk. She was the most beautiful woman he’d seen in his life.
The girl lowered her eyes. She spoke in halting English. “May I … help you?”
Bruce stuttered, trying to talk coherently. “Uh, yeah. Do you have any gum?”
“Gun?” The girl looked up, puzzled.
“No, gum. You know, chewing gum? Chew, chew.” Bruce pantomimed putting a stick of gum in his mouth and chewing. He felt suddenly foolish at his Pidgin English.
She still avoided his eyes. “Gum. Yes we have.” The girl turned and stretched, reaching to the top shelf, and brought down several packs of Wrigley’s gum, some of them open. She held them out to Bruce. “How many sticks?”
The girl finally looked at him, and he felt lost in her deep brown eyes. Her skin was flawless; she looked so innocent he couldn’t tell her age. It took Bruce a moment to figure out what she was asking.
“How many sticks? Oh, you mean I can buy just a stick of gum, rather than a pack?”
“Yes.” The girl seemed amused now.
“Well, then … here.” Bruce dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of pesos. He shoved the money to the girl. “I’ll take all the gum. Is this enough money?” The foreign currency seemed more like play money—Monopoly bills—than hard cash.
The girl carefully counted out the money and held out the remainder to Bruce. As she counted, her long black hair fell over her shoulder, giving it the appearance of a waterfall. She pushed eleven packs of gum across the counter to him, then swung her hair back over her shoulder and lowered her eyes.
Bruce backed out of the tiny store. The screen door swung shut, cutting off his view of the young woman. He didn’t know how long he stood there, but Charlie’s voice seemed to pierce through a fog that enveloped him.
“Hey, Bruce! Would you get back in here? The O’Club is going to close.”
Bruce turned and headed for the jeepney. Reaching out to grab the railing, he realized that he still tightly held the packs of gum. He shoved them into a pocket.
Charlie eyed his frontseater as the jeepney started off. “Get enough gum?”
“Umm? Yeah … sure.” Bruce turned back to watch the traffic. He kept to himself the rest of the trip.
Headquarters, Thirteenth Air Force
Clark AB
The Commander of the Thirteenth Air Force reported directly to the Commander of the Pacific Air Forces, which was headquartered at Hickam AFB, Hawaii. Pacific Air Forces were responsible for the security of an area nearly four times the breadth of the United States—twelve thousand miles—a region that spanned seventeen time zones including the Philippine Islands. And with the reopening of Clark, fueled by national strategy change of “pivot to the East,” Thirteenth Air Force was reactivated, and its operational units were augmented by squadrons rotated in from Seymour Johnson, Elmendorf, Eglin and Langley.
As such, Major General Peter Simone, Commander of the Thirteenth Air Force, was literally on his own. With the exception of a three-star general at Yokota AFB, Japan, and another one at Osan AFB, Korea, Simone was the highest-ranking officer for a thousand miles.
Discounting fleet operations at the newly reopened Subic Naval Base, just fifty miles down the road.
But that was Navy, and therefore didn’t matter.
Simone had short, wirelike hair, dark ebony
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