Daniel Wyatt - The Mary Jane Mission

“Captain MacDonald from the naval base is on the phone. He said it’s important. You can take the phonecall in there, if you like.”

“Ah, yeah, thanks, Gail. I will.”

Gail gently closed the door, went to the kitchen, and when she heard Cameron greet Les’s CO, hung the kitchen receiver up.

Inside the guest room, Cameron sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes nearly closed, the phone held loosely against his ear. His head was slightly dizzy from rising too quickly. “Hello.”

“OK, General Cameron. I’ll get to the point. I made some phone calls to the air force archives in the States. I did a little checking about the Mary Jane . Apparently, she didn’t disappear on the August 14 raid to Hikari, like you said. In fact, the Mary Jane didn’t fly that mission. None of the 509th bombers went that day or any other day. They never flew any conventional bombing missions at all during the war. Another thing, do the callsigns Hawkeye Three-Six and Baker Two mean anything to you?”

Cameron’s eyes suddenly opened. “Where did you get those callsigns?”

“How about ‘Fat Baby wired for sound?’ Does that ring a bell?”

“It might,” Cameron admitted.

“It should. I’ve got another. ‘Hawkeye Three Six to Baker Two. Number Eight complete.’”

“All right, captain, I get the picture.”

“I wouldn’t mind the whole truth this time, General Cameron. From A to Z. We need to meet somewhere. Breakfast is on me. There’s a place on Marine Drive called the Round Top. I can reserve a private booth where we can talk.”

The general sighed heavily into the receiver. “You may not want to hear what I know.”

“Try me… sir.”

The heat and humidity had already taken root in the early morning as Robert Shilling drove Les’s station wagon down Marine Drive, he and Cameron deep in conversation.

“What do you think, Bob? Would you arrive at the same conclusion?” Cameron asked, his arm resting on the edge of the door. The front windows were down in the car, the two enjoying the breeze.

Robert grunted. “It’s too hard to believe, but you have to admit that it explains a lot. The callsigns. The codes. But damn it, Phil, this isn’t a science fiction movie. These things just don’t happen. I still think someone is playing a trick on the 509th.”

“I don’t. This is real.”

“What if MacDonald doesn’t believe you?”

“What do you mean, me ?”

“You outrank me, remember, and you were the commanding officer of the 509th. He might believe this if it comes from you. I’ll put my two cents in when it’s needed. Just state it in such a way that MacDonald will have to arrive at only one logical conclusion.”

“Easier said than done, Bob.”

The Round Top was crowded, with many of the customers in navy uniforms. Cameron gave his name at the counter, and he and Robert were quickly taken to a private booth — partially enclosed by a wall on three sides — where MacDonald, Les, and Jack Runsted were seated. As soon as they sat down, a chubby blonde waitress arrived.

“We’ll all take the breakfast special,” MacDonald said. “Could we have the coffee right away?”

“Yes, sir.”

Once the waitress disappeared, MacDonald turned to Cameron and Robert. “All right you two. We’re in this together. So let’s have it. The true story about the Mary Jane . What happened to her? And what’s with all those strange callsigns and radio talk that Hulk picked up this morning near Iwo Jima?”

Cameron removed his windbreaker and laid it on the chair behind him as the coffee came. The waitress poured and left. Cameron left his black and he stirred it… waiting… stalling. He looked over at his vet friend. “The truth. OK, here goes.” He leaned forward. “Following the Hiroshima and Nagasaki missions, the United States still weren’t certain whether the Japanese would surrender. We had no word from them. Therefore, in anticipation of them not surrendering, a third atomic mission was scheduled. The order came from the top. President Truman. The target would be the city of Kyoto, with a plutonium bomb that was more powerful than the first two atomic bombs put together. An estimated destructive force that could kill 200,000 people and injure another 300,000. History never knew about that mission. Mary Jane was the designated bomber deployed to carry out that third atomic mission on the morning of August 11, 1945. The crew was briefed the night before. They took off from Tinian at oh-one-hundred and,” Cameron paused, “they were never seen again.”

“Go on,” MacDonald said.

“Did you notice that I said the crew was never seen again?”

“I did.”

“Here’s the dope. Even you, Bob, don’t know this. The bomber was found on Guam the following morning.”

“It was?” Robert answered, caught by surprise.

“Yes. One day after the Kyoto mission.”

“Just the bomber?”

Cameron nodded. “Yes, Bob. The Mary Jane was discovered, intact, resting in the jungle near Agana Naval Air Station. The bomber didn’t have a mark on it. I saw it. No signs of a crash landing. No bodies found on Guam or in the water. There was approximately five minutes of fuel left, if that, in the wing tanks. The fuselage contained four bullet holes. Under attack, I suppose. To add to it, a series of bloodstains led from the cockpit all the way to and inside the bomb bay. It was the craziest thing I had ever seen. It should have had crash damage to it. But didn’t. The vegetation wasn’t touched, except for underneath the wheels. It was as if she had plunked down neat as could be in the middle of the night, and someone found it next day.”

“So, what happened to her after that?” MacDonald asked.

“We sensed something evil about the whole thing. Seeing that the mission was never completed, anyway, and the crew were never found, the bomber was supposed to be disposed of. At least, that’s the story I got. Our scientists had no more atomic bombs. Three days later, the Japs surrendered. We were all sworn to secrecy. Captain, you wanted to know about the callsigns?”

“Yes.”

“I hear Les had made contact with the Mary Jane . That true?”

“That’s correct, sir,” Les replied.

Cameron smiled slowly. “Les, did the pilot have a Georgian accent?”

“Yes, sir, he did. A very slow southern drawl.”

“Captain Clayton,” Cameron said to Robert. Then to MacDonald he said, “The callsigns are correct, captain. The ones used on the actual 1945 mission. Hawkeye Three-Six was designated for Clayton’s bomber. Baker Two was Iwo Jima. When Clayton said that Number Eight was complete, he was notifying the scientists on Iwo Jima that Number Eight on the checklist of eleven points for arming the bomb was complete. The critical stage was done. An explosives expert from the US Army, an odd fellow we called Four Eyes because he wore a pair of thick glasses, was to accompany the flight and was to arm the bomb with the flight engineer’s help.” The general paused for a moment, reflecting on the crushed glasses he had found on the cockpit deck forty-five years ago. “‘Fat Baby wired for sound’ was the signal to tell the scientists that the bomb had received the first arming stage, with the final arming coming later in the flight, where Fat Baby would be fully live. Over Iwo Jima, they were to climb to 9,500 feet. Where was your interception made, Les?”

“South of Iwo Jima, sir.”

“What altitude?”

“Five-thousand feet.”

“So, they must have climbed by now.”

“You’re speaking as if they are… still on the mission.”

“That’s right, captain. I am. This might sound totally insane and after this you might have me committed, but I am convinced that you have intercepted the real Mary Jane . And she’s carrying a lethal atomic bomb.”