Booze and Birds

Closing the hatch behind us, the fuselage of our B-17 seemed to have been stripped, leaving only its metal skeleton and the glass for all the crewmen to look at. Isabel did a 180-degree turn inside before sitting down on the floor where the radio operator used to be, and with a sigh, she rested a hand on the body even before we drank the bottle of scotch.

"Poor ol' girl." Sitting next to her, she seemed to have ignored me for the time being and focused solely on the bird, "Survived fighting the Japs in Pearl Harbor, dodged Zeros left and right... then she's stored here in storage because a few bullets got inside her with all of the equipment that works being given to some other B-17, can you believe it?"

The annoyed and impatient demeanor of hers suddenly vanished out of thin air when she glanced at me. Removing the cap on the bottle, I handed her the body before the bottom of the glass was above the two of us. Chugging a few ounces of the scotch, Isabel parted ways with it, letting out an irritated huff before handing it back to me.

"I needed that a few hours ago..." Slumping to the side of the fuselage, a metallic thud was the response to her head hitting the body, "But it hits the spot just right..."

Taking a swig of the scotch myself, silence filled the cabin as I allowed the burning liquid down my gullet, then it was just the silence. Remembering that I had a pack of half a dozen cigarettes in my breast pocket, I withdrew with one hand and flipped the lid off with my thumb, before extending an arm to Isabel who seemed surprised.

"My-my, first you're able to sneak in some scotch, now you have cigarettes? You have all the luxuries in the world on you, Flight Officer." Grabbing a ciggie, the pack was temporarily replaced by the matchbook from my pocket and offering it to her. Once the exchange was made, an orange glow illuminated her face for a few seconds and then a return to darkness, greeted only by a puff of smoke, "That means thanks, by the way.

"Now, it'll take a while for us to finish the scotch and smoke all of these fags, that or it'll take someone five to fifteen minutes to find us, so I'm going to ask this: What's your story?"

My first response was another gulp of the scotch and an exchange of goods once again as a means to delay, as well as for some time to recollect. A gasp for air was my cue to go on.

"What can I say that's interesting? I was born and raised in West Virginia, my dad was a Polish immigrant that joined the US army during the Great War while my uncle, his brother, was in the Kościuszko Squadron fighting the Soviets off of Polska after leaving the German Air ****." There was a giggle from Isabel before crashing into my shoulder before being muffled by an ember glow in the dark, "What else? Well, when the war broke out, I was tempted to do something for the country I was told was home, something around the lines of swimming to Britain to join the 303... Dad convinced me not to and just finish school, and to everyone's surprise, Pearl Harbor happened.

"Hearing it on the radio... all our neighbors suddenly enlisting... Poland being invaded... It felt like I was being told what to do. And so, after graduating, I enlisted for the army but thought I'd join the Army Air **** first. I've surpassed the minimum of 500 flight hours thanks to my uncle, and if that didn't work out, I can still shoot a rifle." The drink was handed back to me, the contents emitting an audible swooshing sound as it happened.

Then there was a sigh right next to me as the cigarette was trapped in between two of Isabel's fingers.

"I guess it's my turn now, huh?" Then it disappeared under the darkness through a pinch of its body and a step for good measure, "Where do I begin?...

"Well, I was born in Upstate New York, nothing interesting happened throughout my life except that I was obsessed with flying kites when I was a little kid. Whenever dad wasn't in the office trying to maintain his job after Wall Street couldn't, he'd take me and my sister kite flying and I guess that sparked my 'passion' for flying and everything that flies.

"Birdwatching got boring so the second best thing was, obviously, planes, and the Great War brought a ton of them. Noisy thingamajigs made from wood and paper, - and if you think about it, they're just an oversized kite with an engine and machine guns, - and they were... beautiful-ish.

"Things got more interesting when that Amelia Earhart traveled across the Atlantic, it gave me a... desire, to fly. And so, I went around the entire country looking for someone to take me up on flying, had to do a lot of favors, and got screwed over more times than I can count, but eventually, I met someone."

Her head fell on my shoulder and onto my lap, though she didn't seem bothered by it, whether or not she was sober enough to be bothered by it remains a mystery.

"Charlie... Charlie Davis took me up on my offer. Maybe it was after I threatened to bite his dick off if I had to suck it, and then he proceeded to laugh before driving me to Florida for lessons from Piper in a cub." She rolled her head to the left, focusing on me first before switching to the ceiling, arms on her chest, "Then I felt like I was in love; the Army Air **** wanted their enlistees to stay single, still does, and so Charlie and I were strictly professional except at night until he qualified, then we got married before he listed my name down for the WASP.

"It was a pain in the ass just to be qualified, and these days they're not any better. Fly airmen all over the country, try not to get shot when said airmen try to shoot down the glider behind you, or the plane you're in, and tolerate all kinds of bullshit from flirts to sexual harassment, or people outright refusing to listen to me for being a girl."

A smirk started to form when she was reaching the end of her story before it burst into chuckling, though it didn't sound humorous, rather a between of it being hysteric and crying, one that couldn't be deciphered as she hid her face with both hands.

Then, for whatever reason, I removed her beret and began stroking her short curly hair, and all of a sudden, it started to become quieter and quieter until total silence. Her hands slowly slid away from her face and a deadpan expression greeted me to its return with almost lifeless eyes scanning me, criticizing my very existence.

"Flight Officer, I-" Cutting herself midsentence, there was a brief moment where it appeared that she didn't know what to think of the situation, much less do, before that very action came to her in the form of an order, "Lie down in case someone manages to see the back of your head."

Complying, we laid there diagonally as she took off from my lap and next to me instead. Offering another swig or cigarette, both were declined, not even her beret was accepted.

"I need to stop calling you Flight Officer," turning to her side both of us stared into the featureless dark while gazing at each other, "forgive me for forgetting, but what was your name again?"

"Stan, Stan Anton."

"Stan... are you a virgin still?" Strange question, but it was my duty to be as honest as possible.

"No, lost it six years ago." Imagined that she nodded and stopped midway at the realization.

"Stan, you're around 18, correct?"

"22."

"You lost it at 16?"

"Teacher. I didn't know what was happening until the principal told me to come to his office with a policeman and my parents. Asked me what happened and found out the next day that she was charged with **** of a minor." And before I knew it, she was lying down on my chest with her arms all over me.

"You poor thing, barely knew what was happening and suddenly the world's looking down on you." And suddenly I felt her hot breath on my face, "You remind me a lot about Charlie... Damn it, I shouldn't... but there's that chance neither of you are coming back..." She let out a shameful sigh before continuing, "Hopefully, you're alright with this kid.."

Collapsing her upper weight on me, we locked lips and soon enough, exchanged passage inside each other.