Andrea Donovan

_______________(7)_____________

ALICE MAE

The Desert was cold and a lonely distant wind could be heard howling within the stillness of the desolate morning. The orange sun was slowly and methodically breaking over a distant mountain now as a new day dawned. Alice Mae had been witness to many such mornings, far more than I.

Standing now before her, I realized that she was taller than I had always believed her to be. I felt my heart skip a beat and spoke her name aloud now, as if in a dream, as if locked in a hypnotic trance, drawn and seduced by her presence ...Alice Mae ...we finally meet at long last. ...The old black and white movies and photographs which I had grown up with had done little justice for her, she was breathtaking and her stoic presence was both awe inspiring and ominous, captivating me, demanding my attention.

...It was well known to all, that she had often kept the company of many bold and defiant young men in days long past, their hearts she had stolen with both love and hate, some professing her as angelic while others had insisted that she was a heartless bitch from the very depths of Hell. Regardless, the young men would remain hers to keep, either by free will or no. It made no difference; she owned them, now and forever, it would always be so, even to this very day.

It would be, her, which dominated their dreams and nightmares alike, forever flying through their minds like an ambient cloud or violent whirlwind, it was all the same. It mattered not if the defiant young men had long since taken beautiful young brides, nor did it matter the length of time for which the young men had been separated from Alice Mae. Their allegiance to her had been complete and absolute, forged through terror and at times, insidious laughter.

There had been others like her of course but none had ever captivated the hearts and minds of impressionable young men the way she had. Without speaking a single word she had beckoned them forward and seemingly conveyed the promise of gallantry and manhood derived from a boy within a single day, thus catapulting their status from a place of dismal anonymity into that of a victorious medieval knight, racing the wind upon a white steed into their own glorious destiny for all to see. Reality had many times proven quite different however, often with a sudden and cataclysmic ending in calamity - the loyalty and admiration of the now departed young men meaningless to her and quickly forgotten. Yet throughout, there had always been an endless procession of, still more, defiant young men ready to step forward and answer her beck and call at a moment's notice ...and answer they did.

Although in her late seventies now, the passage of time had stolen nothing from her ...almost as if time itself was reluctantly vindicating her cold and heartless vanity for fear of the terrible wrath for which she was so well known for. Yet within this passage of time, the defiant young men who had once loathed and adored her, were now themselves grey and wiser - their defiance having matured into wisdom, partially from their own life's experiences in general ...but also from having known her. History showed that she had always been adamantly protective of those closest and loyal to her and that she had often destroyed those opposing her, ruthlessly and without resignation or a single moment's remorse. The News reels and tabloids had said as much.

...Even the President had made brief mention of her.

With a quickened breath and trembling hand I reached up and touched her now. Blue eyes, beneath a wild weave of auburn hair now stared down upon me, cold and unblinking. I too, had long since fallen under her spell.

"...It really is her, isn't it?" I whispered in awe and staring up at the angelic face.

"Yes" Andrea replied simply, squeezing my other hand.

A late model, red Jeep Cherokee suddenly broke the stillness of the dawn as it travelled down the deserted roadway adjacent to us. Two minutes later the vehicle pulled up and parked next to the large prosaic warehouse across from where Andrea and I stood. The driver, switching off the engine and headlights, soon emerged from the vehicle carrying a leather attaché case in his left hand, he then stooped into the vehicle long enough to drape a white windbreaker over his left arm. By now, another man, similar in build and demeanor, had exited the passenger side of the Jeep. The two men then simultaneously shut the Jeep's doors with an audible "thwap" closely followed by a high pitched "beep" of locking doors. Both men then began walking towards Andrea and I as we turned to face them.

Andrea now began pulling me toward the two gentlemen with a quickened pace, she then broke free of my hand and ran the rest of the way toward the man closest us.

"Allen! Oh my God, what's it been now, six, seven years?" Andrea asked flying into the out stretched arms awaiting her.

The man "Allen" deftly swept Andrea off her feet and swung her in a wide circle as he held her in a bear hug.

"Andrea, you look great!" Allen exclaimed, setting her down and taking a step back to look at her.

"So do you, Allen!" Andrea smiled with a heartfelt reply, holding out her arm and now presenting me in introduction.

"Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet my husband, Tim!" Andrea said proudly.

I swiftly walked up to where Andrea and Allen were standing and shook hands while nodding at the other man, whom Andrea had yet to introduce.

"So you're, Tim, I've heard so much about you. You're a better man than I, sir" Allen said with a firm handshake and quickly glancing at Andrea, longingly.

Allen's comment was a bit awkward but not entirely out of place, it was obvious that my wife and Allen had possibly shared a romantic interest at one time or more likely, I suspected, Andrea had needed to gently turn him away at one time, possibly when Allen was in his late teens or maybe his early twenties. There was obviously an age difference of several years between the two and it would seem logical that Allen still held her in very high esteem.

"Andrea speaks very highly of you as well, Allen" I said smiling.

Looking at Allen now, I instinctively knew that he too, had fallen under the spell of Alice Mae.

..."Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, this is John Kern, our chief for the day" Allen said holding out his arm to the other man and introducing us.

John and I shook hands as Andrea silently squeezed John's left elbow with her right hand, obviously Andrea liked John but didn't know him as well as Allen.

"Our ground crew and flight engineer should be here in a few minutes. In the meantime I'll let you help me make some preflight checks, Tim, and when Kenny and the rest of the guys get here, we'll head to Texas for the day." Allen said enthusiastically and nodding at me.

"Andrea and I would really like that!" I replied excitedly.

"Andrea sent me photos of your Peterbilt, Tim. What we're going to do now really isn't that much different than what you do in the morning to make sure your truck is ready to work. Preflight is a little more in-depth, especially with a bird this size, but it's essentially the same thing." Allen explained and motioning me to follow him.

"Alice Mae was static for forty seven years - up until two thousand and nine, when the museum purchased the ship. We also acquired those two DC6 's from the same private owner in that transaction - the one on the left had belonged to Howard Hughes at one time" Allen said, pointing in the general direction.

"Static, what's that?" I asked Allen and looking off toward the two DC6's which he had pointed to.

"Display only, not airworthy. The museum and hundreds of volunteers from all over the world have spent the last twelve years making this ship airworthy again" Allen explained proudly as we bent down and walked under Alice Mae's right wing, or "Starboard" wing.

"I know, I subscribed to the web page and have watched the progress all along, it's a real honor to actually be here.' I replied.

"There are now eleven B-17's flying again today, Tim." Allen said as we knelt down by the landing gear strut.

Taking a clean rag, Allen began wiping the exposed portion of the shock absorber while simultaneously rolling his eyes and head and carefully, inspecting the underside of the wing and fuselage.

"You were acquainted with Lake then, Andrea's dad?" I suddenly asked.

"Knew Lake very well, I grew-up walking in his shadow, wonderful man" Allen replied without looking at me.

I detected a hint of hesitation on Allen's part, as if I had brushed against a nerve slightly. Instinct told me that Allen had been, and still was, very attracted to my wife. I understood this; I'd stood in Allen's shoes on several occasions myself, over the years when I had been single. It was difficult seeing the woman you love, in-love with someone else. Now, presently today, I was "that other guy" ...there were a few moments of awkward silence between Allen and me but I detected no animosity on his part. Fair enough I thought, no harm, no foul - all's fair in love and war. Feelings would eventually blow over and life would go onward. I was excited about the day's planned events and wasn't going to let a few moments of stale air spoil the day.

Other vehicles were now arriving and I could hear voices mixed with Andrea's sporadic laughter. ...Andrea's father, Lake, had flown the B-17 into battle and as a result, Andrea had always been front and center stage among fly guys. Her extraordinary good looks and warm charisma only seemed to encourage and fuel those fires - beautiful women and exotic vintage aircraft went hand in hand. Today would be a day when I would have to endure much hugging and lavish attention showered onto my wife by other men but I also knew that it would be me that went home with her at the end of the day.

Allen now broke the silence by clicking on a small flashlight and explaining "We always look for oil or debris on the engine cowls and in the air vents, Tim, we're in the Desert and we don't want any stray critters hitching a free ride and choking off our air vents, so we always check them before we take-off" Allen explained.

"Who was Alice Mae? Was she the wife or girlfriend of one of the pilots or crew?" I suddenly asked, staring up at the bold and elaborate "Nose Art" on the front of the bomber which Andrea and I had been admiring a few minutes earlier.

"That's a good question and still somewhat of a mystery. The bomber is believed to have had at least thirty one crew members, all told, throughout her entire Service but as of yet, no one has been able to piece together exactly who Alice Mae could actually have been, or who the artist was that created the work, either." Allen replied, straightening up and looking up at the artwork.

Nose art had been a popular way for bomber crews to personalize their own individual aircraft and an intense rivalry between aircrews had developed. Each bomber crew had wanted to have the most elaborate name and exotic artwork for their ship. Andrea's father, Lake, had flown two B-17's with the names of "Marvelous Margaret" and "Party Gal.' The nose art of Alice Mae depicted a naked cherub blonde astride a falling bomb with one arm outstretched and pointing forward, as if she were pointing toward destiny and victory. With her large, white, angelic wings spread outward, Alice Mae's pose looked similar to that of a nineteen forties Cadillac hood emblem, complete with her hair trailing in the shape of flames. Perhaps this is where the term "Blonde Bombshell" originated from, I speculated as I stared upward at the elaborate artwork.

The artwork was large and audacious, covering most of the forward nose section on each side of the bomber. The artist had certainly appreciated the fine curves of a beautiful woman, or angel in this case, and his attention to detail had captured all of the fine detail of a heavenly face in the flower of youth. ...Yet the eyes, ...my attention was always drawn back to her eyes. Ice blue, cold and calculating and appearing as if she were looking into the fires of Hell, I shuddered slightly and looked away. The artwork reminded me of the Biblical passage "Hell hath no fury like the wrath of a woman scorned" - a phrase which my mother had often quoted as I was growing up, a phrase which I had always found a bit humorous, only now it didn't seem so...

All at once now, it dawned on me that this magnificent machine which I had always been so enthralled with had not been created as a weekend novelty, as it now was ...it had been produced as a devastating weapon of war during a terrible time of destruction. The air war over Europe had been brutal in its intensity and often with the semblance of "a knife fight inside a phone booth" as it had once been described. Flying into battle, death had often ridden as closely to this aircraft as a horseman's evening shadow in a time when the world was besieged with unimaginable chaos. Alice Mae, eventually flying thirty seven missions had, herself, been blooded, losing two crew members to flak and enemy bullets during the course of her Service. Her inscription "Alice Mae" was painted in large black letters in the classic script which was so common among German print. It was obvious that the German script had been intentionally selected for the Luftwaffe to clearly see, implying "We are the crew of the good ship Alice Mae, come up and fight!"

"Spooky, isn't she?" Allen asked, noticing my upward gaze at the bomber's artwork.

"God, I guess" I replied, shaking my head and closing my eyes as the passage "Ye who sows the wind shall reap the whirlwind" came to mind.

"To answer your question in a little more detail -and it can't be confirmed or denied, it's believed by some that she came to the artist as an avenging angel in a vivid dream from the book of Apocalypse. Evidently she had ridden to him upon a warhorse composed of fire, telling the young artist and airman to go forth and have no fear. There are also those who believe that she had revealed great truths and revelations from beyond to the young man which she had warned must never be divulged to another. After his dream, and strongly compelled by the vision of her, the artist had begun work immediately, recreating her likeness in the artwork and intuitively knowing her name... These were young men facing death each and every day, so personally, I've never discounted the story, Tim." Allen said looking up at the artwork.

"Maybe that's why everyone always remembers Alice Mae over all the other B-17's, because her artwork was Divinely inspired. I wish the young man would have signed his name to his work so we'd, at least, know who he was" I pondered aloud, looking up at the brushwork from seventy years ago.

"We all do but maybe he wasn't supposed to, who knows?. ...There are many who believe this ship is an actual portal, Tim" Allen replied, holding up his palms.

"I'm not sure she isn't, Allen" I replied, rubbing my forehead and closing my eyes again.

"There were many talented young men in the Army Air Corps during the war, some of which were amazing artists. This artist was indeed a crew member of Alice Mae at one point; we do know that much, because the creator of the nose art was briefly mentioned in another crew member's diary which the museum now has, but again, we're not exactly sure which crewmember the artist was. The diary is extremely vague about his identity.

At one point in time it was said that the nose art of Alice Mae was also mentioned by another crewmember in a letter sent home to his folks but of course all of those letters are over seventy five years old now and largely forgotten in an attic somewhere or gone entirely. The identity of the man is a good topic for discussion over a few beers and there've been some strong claims and conjecture by some on the subject.

These were lonely, scared young men, far away from home. They missed their families, wives and girlfriends and many people truly believed that it was the time of the Apocalypse, Tim. At about the same age that you and I were getting our first car, these young men were flying into battle and facing the most powerful airforce in the world. That always shakes me up a little bit when I think about it. By the way, that little tid-bit of information, which I just told you, isn't on the webpage" Allen said quietly.

"I've seen the black and white movie footage and photographs of Alice Mae and other B-17's since childhood, of course, but never up close, not like this. This man was certainly a gifted artist, whoever he was" I replied, looking up at the face again and shaking my head once more in disbelief.

"She's been touched-up a little over the years by a very talented guy in Prescott who's been extremely careful not to alter the artwork in any way, and because of his care, the artwork is essentially the same as it was in the nineteen forties." Allen replied.

As I continued to stare upward at Alice Mae, I silently recalled reading somewhere that a Chaplin had been in the process of Blessing some of the bombers before the raid on Schweinfurt one evening while two of the crew members had looked onward with one of them scoffing to the other that, damn little good it would do. The other had apparently replied with something to the effect of "Yeah, probably not but it won't hurt anything and the Padre's prayers don't take up any space and they don't weigh nothin' either so we may as well take them along with us."

Many bombers had fallen to earth that following day and many defiant young men had gone with them...

"-Gentlemen" Andrea suddenly said from behind me and handing Allen and I each a styrofoam cup of coffee.

"Thank you, Andrea" Allen and I each said in turn.

"I remembered you like it black" Andrea said, putting her arm around Allen and smiling up at him.

"Your dad always said that it was bad luck to fly a B-17 before you had a cup of coffee" Allen reminisced.

"Yeah ...I know, honey" Andrea said softly, nodding her head a little and looking off into space.

"What do you think Lake would have said if he were here right now?" Allen suddenly asked.

"He would have said, Let's get this ship in the air! - and he IS here, Allen" Andrea replied and pulling Allen closer to her.

Allen silently nodded his head and closed his eyes to hide his emotion; obviously Lake had meant a great deal to Allen, I understood this.

The man named Kenny arrived, our flight engineer, and after our introductions were made, he immediately began assisting John and Allen with Alice Mae's Preflight inspection.

Taking me by the hand, Andrea now positioned me in front of the bomber and began taking many photographs and several minutes worth of video footage with me posing with the vintage aircraft, this was a historic moment in my life and Andrea was determined to commemorate the event on her YouTube page. It was my belief that Andrea was, herself, somewhat sentimental toward the bomber but for entirely different reasons than my own. Andrea and her sister Gail had adored their father, Lake, and I speculated that being in the presence of the nostalgic aircraft brought fond memories to the forefront of Andrea's recollection. As small girls, both Andrea and Gail had often accompanied their father, flying the DC3, DC4 and DC6, when he had flown for Aerozona Cargo, an air freight company which no longer existed.

"Alright, now turn towards me a little, that's it; look up at her, Tim. Straighten your back some, hold it there, lift your head a little, now look at me, put your hand on side of the plane now, that's it. OK, now walk over there and when I tell you, walk back into the frame and look up at Alice Mae's face - remember, don't look at the camera unless I tell you to" Andrea began instructing me. This of course was a reverse situation for Andrea as she had always been the subject of the camera when modeling.