A War Remembered Ch. 01

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A WWII tale of siblings and their lost spouses.
8.2k words
4.52
10.5k
11

Part 1 of the 3 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 01/18/2018
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This is my first submission to any literary site. If there is one thing I know, every good writer had a great editor and I am looking for help in that regard; even as relates to the title.

It was always my intent to put this story into the Incest/Taboo category. However, as I continue to write, it has become apparent that it will end up being very long; Novels & Novellas may be the better home for it. Your comments on that are equally welcome.

Initially, I am concentrating on character development, so I give you this warning up front: If you are looking for immediate sex, you will be very disappointed. While I want honest ratings for my writing, I want any bad ratings to be based on bad writing, not the absence of stroke material on page one.

Finally, the story is set in the 1930s and 1940s. While I want to be historically accurate, I have taken occasional literary license with some dialogue/slang and facts.

The usual age and theme disclaimers apply.

***

As Frankie concentrated on the task before him, the drone from the assembly line hung over the factory like a cloud of easily ignored but non-stop noise. Republic Aviation had decided to convert the Razorback configuration of the P-47 Thunderbolt fighter, the workhorse of the US Army Air Corp over Europe, to a bubble top canopy over the cockpit. It seemed that the flyboys were complaining that the blind spot caused by the Razorback on the plane's "6" - directly behind the pilot - was giving Hitler's Luftwaffe pilots in their Messerschmidt 109s and FW 190s too much of an advantage in the dogfights over France, leading to a significant loss of American planes and pilots. George Marshall, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in Washington, ordered Republic to do something about it NOW! So, the engineers hastily came up with the clear, teardrop plexiglass design that gave Army Air Corp pilots a full 360-degree view of the skies. The design was not problem free, though, and Frankie was tasked with finding solutions to some assembly issues. After all, not only had Frankie studied aeronautical engineering at the Casey Jones School of Aeronautics down the road at LaGuardia Airport, he had earned his wings and a commission as a Second Lieutenant after completing basic flight training in the trusty Stearman BT-13 at Lackland Air Field in Texas. He was the ideal guy to fix the problem at Republic's Farmingdale, Long Island plant.

***

Flyboys.

Pilots.

Plant employee.

Yeah, Frankie remained bitter. He had qualified for fighter school during basic training and was excited to be on the troop train to Moultrie, Georgia to learn how to fly AT-6s at Spence Air Field. Excited, that is, until the train derailed just north of Tallahassee. The ensuing crash crushed his left ankle into so many pieces that the Army doctors were faced with more of a jig saw puzzle than surgery. While they were able to save his foot, not only was his flying career was over, he was deemed medically unfit for service in any branch of the military. So, his contributions to the war effort were now limited to the factory. What made it all particularly galling was Amy, his sweet, sexy wife of almost three years.

He and Amy Lundin met as freshmen at Massapequa High School in 1935 and were immediately mutually smitten. She thought Frankie was dreamy, with his Italian good looks and athlete's swagger. He thought Amy was the most gorgeous girl he had ever met: blonde hair, brown eyes, and a figure that made even grown men nod approvingly. Although initially shy with each other as was customary for the times, as they dated through high school they had become increasingly bold in their explorations. What started out as a chaste peck on the cheek after the Friday night Homecoming Bonfire moved to closed mouth kissing during a double feature at the Bijou. A hot summer day spent frolicking on the beach at Coney Island, their sweaty bodies on display in their bathing suits, resulted in kissing "the French way" on the subway ride home. After Frankie had gotten his driver's license and was allowed to take his dad's '31 Ford Roadster to a Saturday night drive-in double feature, their hands began to roam over each other - although Frankie could only feel her firm breasts and hard nipples over her brassiere and her hands never strayed below his belt. That would have to wait until they got married.

Despite his growing sexual frustration, Frankie loved and respected Amy like no other and he abided his time. He knew that they would get married one day and he wanted the marriage to be built on trust. Besides, when he would reach the boiling point, he would sneak into the cellar where the washing machine was, and search for his sister Maria's underwear in the clothes hamper. If he was lucky enough to find a recently worn bra, pair of panties or garter belt with silk stockings attached, he would smell them and play with his hard cock until it erupted. He didn't believe for a minute what Mr. Zerella said about masturbation in Boys Health class, or he would have been blind years ago. And, for some reason, he wasn't bothered that his explosion was caused by underwear worn by his sister, two years his senior. Maria was a very good-looking girl whose figure, while not as quite as curvy as Amy's, was more than enough for Frankie to beat off to.

Amy and Frankie graduated high school in 1939; she went on to attend a local campus of the Katherine Gibbs School to become a secretary, while Frankie went to work for Mario Lorenzo at his Texaco station. Frankie started off pumping gas, checking oil, and washing windshields. His duties soon expanded to repairing flat tires, performing oil changes and, after he had gotten some experience, tuning up engines; he found that he liked working on cars.

After Amy finished secretarial school and got a job with a Massapequa law firm, she and Frankie decided that it was time to get married. With their families and a gaggle of friends attending, they tied the knot at St. Rose's Catholic Church in August 1941. After a lovely wedding reception in the backyard of Amy's parents, they left for a traditional honeymoon at Niagara Falls. They spent their first night as man and wife in a small motel outside of Oneonta, where they delighted in the joys of their bodies as they finally had honest-to-goodness sex. Both were pleased, Frankie with his ability to hold off long enough for Amy to fully accommodate his hard cock and Amy with finding that "losing her cherry" was not the painful, horrible experience all of the girls would talk about in the locker room after gym class.

They returned from their honeymoon to a one-bedroom apartment located between their respective parents' homes, and began the life of a young married couple. That all changed one December afternoon just a few months later. While they were sitting down to Sunday dinner with his parents and Maria, they were all shocked to hear that Pearl Harbor had been bombed by Japan. Dinner conversation focused on what the United States would do to retaliate and whether war would also be declared against Germany.

That night, Frankie and Amy continued to talk about it after they went to bed. With his strong arm around her shoulder, Amy's head was snuggled in Frankie's neck as she toyed with the buttons on his pajama top. Frankie went on and on about how he would not let "those damned Japs and Krauts" make fools of his country. He talked about the pros and cons of the various branches of service and what he thought he would like to do. Having heard his father describe the horrors of trench warfare in the Ardennes in The Great War, serving in the infantry was low on his list. And despite the fun that they had had at Coney Island over the years, Frankie was not a particularly strong swimmer and expressed doubts about joining the Navy. However, when he started to talk about flying, his voice grew excited. He and Amy had gone to Floyd Bennett Field in Brooklyn to watch planes take off and land and he had always wondered what it would be like to fly an airplane. He thought that he could do it. The more he talked about it, the more intense he became. Just think, he could be Lieutenant Frank Puccini, Fighter Pilot!

***

It excited Amy whenever Frankie talked so intensely about something. When that happened, he reminded her of James Cagney, Edward G. Robinson and Humphrey Bogart in the gangster movies they enjoyed watching. She didn't know why, but she loved when men took charge; it always gave her a tingling feeling between her legs. While Frankie never put two and two together, Amy was always ready to engage in a heavy petting session after seeing movies like "Angels With Dirty Faces" and "Little Caesar" while they were dating. And when they returned to their apartment after seeing "High Sierra" shortly after they were married, she treated Frankie to his very first "suck job." She had heard one of the other secretaries at work talking about it one day in the lunch room; the secretary called herself an "icing expert." Although initially disgusted by the notion of putting Frankie's penis in her mouth, she often found herself thinking about it as they became more adventurous in the bedroom. When she burrowed down under the covers and pointed his erection at her ruby lips, Frankie had held his breath in anticipation. She tentatively licked the mushroom head, and found that it was smooth as silk and hard as steel. She became more confident in her actions as she worked her tongue up and down his hard shaft until she finally took him into her warm, wet mouth and started to suck. Frankie hadn't lasted 30 seconds that first time before groaning and erupting deep in her mouth; in some odd way the taste reminded her of salt water taffy, not icing. While surprised at how much he had ejaculated, she laughed a little because it reminded her of the documentary about "Old Faithful" at Yellowstone National Park during the Science Assembly back at Massapequa High. He laughed when she said that practice would make perfect and not to worry about his quick orgasm.

***

As they continued to chat about the impending war, Frankie's hand began to cup Amy's full breast and tease her nipple. Amy reciprocated by fishing Frankie's cock out of the fly of his pajamas and softly caressed the head. The harder Frankie got, the wetter Amy's pussy became. She swung her leg over Frankie's torso, raised the bottom of her flannel nightgown, moved the gusset of her step-ins aside, and slowly lowered herself on his rigid cock. She began to slowly ride him until she adjusted to his erection - it seemed like every time they had sex with her on top, Frankie went deeper and deeper. But a few minutes later, she was slamming down hard on him. Every time she bottomed out, his hardness hit her cervix, reminding her that she was a woman. After 15 minutes of frantic lovemaking, she cried out in pleasure and Frankie's orgasm shortly followed.

The following morning, even before the broadcast of FDR's famous "day that will live in infamy" speech, Frankie went to the Army Recruiting Center and enlisted as a cadet in the Army Air Corps.

***

As Frankie pondered how to attach the canopy sliding mechanism to the rear of the cockpit without interfering with the wiring for the radio antenna, he wondered where Amy was. Here he was, stuck in the Republic factory dealing with ridiculous design issues while Amy was 15,000 feet somewhere over the East Coast, ferrying a Martin B-26 Marauder from its Nebraska factory to its deportation field south of Baltimore. She was a bomber jockey while he was a ground jockey. That was the most galling part of it all.

After Frankie recovered from the train crash and was mustered out on a partial disability, Amy announced that she had been accepted as a WASP - a Woman's Airforce Service Pilot. She had considered the possibility while he was going through Basic and, without him or their parents knowing, started to take private flying lessons with money she saved from each week's pay from the law firm. By the time of Frankie's accident, she had already accumulated 150 hours of "stick time" and had submitted her WASP application. She learned she was accepted shortly thereafter, but deferred her start until Frankie was back on his feet. Once that happened, she was assigned to multi-engine flight school and became a co-pilot for the twin-engine medium bomber. She had been ferrying Marauders - which had the unfortunate nickname "Widow Makers" because of their tendency to crash during take offs and landings - on a regular basis for more than 10 months.

Frankie's anger wasn't only because Amy was flying and he wasn't. With the Martin factory in Omaha, she was only able to come back to Long Island for forty-eight hours every six weeks. That meant that for 40 nights out of every 42, Frankie was without the joys of making love to his wife. He had never thought about how she would have felt if the train had never crashed and he had gone to the Pacific or Europe to fly against the Axis, because that's just how it was. But now he was deprived of her sweet pussy and even sweeter mouth, resulting in Becker's Pharmacy having to provide a steady supply of Vaseline to help him grease up his always hard cock for his nightly masturbation sessions. "War is definitely hell," he thought for the 1000th time as he tinkered some more with the canopy.

Frankie's concentration was broken when he felt a tug on the leg of his overalls. Looking down, he saw the chubby face of Archie Feeley, another member of the Thunderbolt design team, looking up at him. "Hey Puccini, Mr. Stewart wants to see you in his office."

"What for?"

Archie shrugged his shoulders and started walking away.

"Tell him I'll be there in two minutes," Frankie shouted after Feeley's retreating figure. He wasn't happy with the prospect of having to walk to Stewart's office, which was at the far end of the plant. He still had a slight limp and his left foot was stiff from standing on the plane's wing for the last hour as he worked on the canopy.

After applying a few more pounds of pressure to the main connection bolt with his torque wrench, Frankie stepped off the P-47's wing and made the long trek to Paul Stewart's office. Although he and the project leader got along pretty well, he always thought that the older man was a bit of a worry wart; he wondered was mole hill Paul was making into a mountain today.

Frankie knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a reply. Paul Stewart, his greying hair circling his bald pate like a monk, was seated behind his cluttered gun-metal desk. Standing next to him was Father Michael, the Assistant Pastor at St. Rose's. Frankie immediately thought about his father's recently diagnosed heart condition. "Father! What are you doing here? Did something happen to Dad?" Just then the door opened and Frankie's parents and sister walked in. His father's eyes were red and he looked away from Frankie. Tears started to trickle down his mother's grief-lined face. Maria's face was a blotchy mess and her eye makeup ran down both cheeks, streaking her rouge with black. "Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!?!"

Father Mike walked around the desk and handed Frankie a Western Union envelope. Frankie looked unblinkingly at the envelope and then scanned the faces around him.

There was no need to read the telegram.

***

Amy's body arrived at Fiordalisi's Funeral Home three days later.

The investigation by the Army Air Corps found that shortly before she was to receive clearance for final approach to land, Mabel Harkness, the pilot of Amy's plane, had declared an emergency: the starboard engine conked out. Despite Amy's warning from her co-pilot's seat, Mabel failed to increase power to the port engine, resulting in a precipitous loss of airspeed. When the bomber stalled and plunged the final 150 feet to the ground in seemingly an instant, the nose gear hit first and crumpled, sending the plane into a tail-over-nose somersault. There were no survivors.

The Widow Maker had become a Widower Maker.

Fortunately, the plane did not burst into flames and the battered corpses of the crew were sent home for burial. To add insult to injury, WASPs were not considered military, so their families had to pay to bring home their remains and no military honors were given at their burials.

***

At his parents' insistence, Frankie stayed at their home for a week after Amy was buried. They were afraid of how he would react to coming home to an empty house. Little did they know that he had grown used to being alone after Amy moved to Omaha to start her WASP duties. So, while he reluctantly agreed to stay for a week - mostly to make them feel better - he admitted to himself that it was comforting to come down the stairs into the kitchen and have breakfast and a cup of hot coffee waiting for him every morning. But their efforts at being supportive, however sincere and well-intentioned, made Frankie miss Amy more. His anger at her loss was bottomless and the ache in his heart constant.

Three days after they had lowered Amy's broken body into the ground, Frankie heard a faint knocking on the bedroom door. His first reaction was to ignore it and turn his back. A minute later, another knock followed, just slightly louder but definitely more persistent. He knew he couldn't ignore it.

"Come in."

The cut glass handle turned slowly and the door opened just enough for Maria's brunette tresses to poke through. "Frankie, is it okay if I come in for a minute?" Without waiting for him to answer, she pushed the door fully open, entered the room and sat down at the edge of his bed. "I just need to tell you something, Frankie. Let me finish what I have to say before you say anything back." When he nodded, she took a deep breath and started.

Frankie stared at his sister, who was dressed in a plain, grey wool skirt that dipped below her knees, and a white rayon blouse that buttoned up just above her décolletage. The thin material allowed him to see the outline of the detailed embroidery on her Maidenform bra. He silently congratulated Maria for dressing so prettily despite the shortages of just about everything caused by the war effort.

"Frankie, you are my brother and I love you with all of my heart and soul. While I admit that I was a little jealous when Amy came into your life and you started spending all of your time with her, I thought the two of you had a swell relationship. To me, your marriage was perfect, that it was the kind of marriage I would want if I ever found the right man, a man just like you. You never knew this, but one day when we were practicing kissing, Amy told me about what it was like to have sex with you and she made it sound so exciting. Anyway, it's perfectly dreadful that Amy's dead. I just want you to know that if you ever need anything - anything at all - come to me and I will see that you get whatever it is. I know that in a couple of days you will returning to your apartment and going back to work. But there is no need for you to ever be lonely. Ever. Do you understand? Just nod your head yes."

Frankie nodded his head as she instructed. Maria bent down and kissed Frankie on the top of his head, turned, and left.

Jealous?

A man like you?

Practicing kissing?

No need to be lonely?

Frankie wondered what the hell it all meant as the scent of Maria's Shalimar perfume lingered in the air.

***

Over the following weeks, Frankie wracked his brain trying to make some sense out of Maria's comments. Although he had stopped by his parents' house several times to say hello, nothing Maria said or did during those visits suggested that she had meant anything salacious by her comments after the funeral. But wait, she had said that she and Amy had been "practicing kissing." While he was not particularly interested in what lesbians did - especially after years of Catholic training that all homosexuality was an abomination against God - there was something exciting about the prospect of his wife and his sister kissing. Did they do more than that? As he thought about Amy's hand cupping Maria's breast, he found himself getting hard. He reached down to adjust his swelling cock in his overalls, and the moment he touched himself he realized that he had not masturbated since Amy died. He went into their bedroom - no, now it was his alone - and took off his clothes. He went into Amy's dresser and pulled out a pair of her panties. He brought them to his face and inhaled deeply, but was unable to catch a scent of her. Undaunted, he wrapped them around his now turgid erection and started pumping as he thought about all of the times they had made love. The harder and faster he stroked himself, the less he thought about he and Amy and the more he thought about Amy and Maria. Soon he was on the verge of orgasm. Suddenly, a vision of Maria spreading Amy's legs and kissing her pussy led to a savage explosion of cum from his pulsing cock. More than two months of sperm flew into the air and landed on his chest. As his spasms started to abate, the thought of Maria licking his cum off him jolted him into two more blasts.