Watch the Skies in World War 2 Ch. 01

INTRODUCTION & DISCLAIMER - Doris, Violet, Kim, Michael, Johnny and Ralph are six very different young Americans whose lives are thrown together in an extraordinary way on a summer's day in 1943 when each sights a mysterious object in the sky.

What happens to New-England WAC recruit Doris, tough Jersey girl Violet, Midwest farm girl Kim, naval officer Michael, GI Johnny and failed army recruit Ralph? Read Watch the Skies in World War 2 to find out!

All of the characters are from locations in America known for great mysteries, like all my works has a past setting and I hope you enjoy the first installment of this Science Fiction story. All characters and events are fictional, and only characters aged 18 years and over are involved in sexual activity.

***

SATURDAY, 10th JULY 1943

BENNINGTON, VERMONT, USA

The first rays of the dawn sunshine shone through the forests that grew in abundance around Glastonbury Mountain. At the start of the Long Trail, a young man and young woman stretched in preparation for the long hike.

"This is like a stroll in the park, compared to what your training will be like Doris," said the young man, a handsome 21-year old GI with short, light-brown hair, clad in khaki army trousers, a matching shirt and boots.

"I'll be fine, Bill," said Doris, a very pretty slim 18-year-old red-head who wore an old cream-colored blouse, blue jeans and hiking shoes.

Bill laced his right boot. "Well, you can't blame me for worrying about my kid sister. The army is tough, even in the WAC."

"That's what Mom and Dad said," said Doris, recalling their parents were less than impressed by their daughter's declaration of joining the Women's Armed Corps as soon as she turned 18. "But if you can survive Rommel's forces in North Africa, I'm sure I can survive in the WAC." She tied her hair back into a pony-tail with a blue ribbon.

"Well, while I'm on leave, the least I can do is get you a little prepared," said Bill. A grin came across his face. "Stand up straight, about turn, quick march! Now Carter, I don't have all."

Doris also laughed as the siblings set off on their hike, talking about Bill's army experiences and how things were at home while he was serving overseas. About an hour and a half into the hike, Bill could see that with his army experience his superior fitness to that of his younger sister was beginning to show, and decided to test Doris's competitive streak.

"Come on, is that as fast as you can walk?" asked Bill, quickening his pace.

"I can out-run you any day," said Doris, picking up her pace, to which Bill likewise increased his own. Doris broke into a run, over-taking her brother who also began to run. Doris, who had enjoyed track and played baseball in high school, increased her pace to a sprint, Bill running after her, the brother and sister laughing.

Rounding a corner, Doris vanished from Bill's sight. "I'll soon catch you and then its twenty push-ups," he called, but this promise seemed to be an empty one when Bill suddenly found himself short of breath. A dizziness came over the young man's head and before he could try and shake off this feeling blackness swept over him and Bill fell to the ground in a faint.

In a clearing, Doris of course had no idea that her older brother had passed out and waited for him to catch up with her. She had shown him, anything boys could do girls could do just as well, if not better. Slightly uncomfortable at her panties riding up, Doris adjusted them through her jeans and glanced upwards at a passing silver aircraft, before a puzzled expression filled her face as it came to a stop just above the forest tree-tops. Airplanes flew in straight lines, they did not hover like a damsel-fly. And this was too big to be a proper aircraft, and definitely the wrong shape - circular like a giant saucer, with a turret on the top. Most noticeably was the complete lack of sound from the craft, the silence so complete it was eerie.

Before she could do anything more, Doris like her older brother before her felt dizzy and blackness swept over her as a peculiar beam of blue light descended from the underside of the aircraft towards the young woman...

On the trail Bill blinked awake, furious at himself for passing out. Men did not faint, especially not GI's who had survived the menace of U-boats when crossing the Atlantic, served in the North African campaign and assisted during an air raid upon London when waiting for their platoon to return to America, again through the dangerous waters of the North Atlantic. His only consolation was that at least Doris had not seen this; his kid sister would never let him live this down!

Bill felt as though he had been asleep for hours, but when he looked at his wristwatch he saw that no more than a minute had gone by. Getting to his feet and dusting himself down, Bill continued around the corner and into the clearing where his sister should have been waiting ... but was not.

Slightly puzzled Bill glanced around and looked further along the trail in case Doris had continued, but there was no sign of her. Then the obvious solution came over his mind. Doris was hiding, playing some sort of joke with him. "Okay Doris, you can come out now," called Bill.

No response. Bill called out again. "Doris, you've got me, now come out."

Still nothing, and the first feelings of worry began to cross Bill's mind. "Doris, come out, it's not funny now," he called.

There was no response from his sister, just the dead silence of the Long Trail woods. Bill had hiked here before, and found the silence tranquil, peaceful. This was not the case now. The silence was eerie, frightening. Doris could not have gone ahead and moved out of view in such a short period of time, and had she turned back she would have seen him passed out and stopped. And while his sister did enjoy jokes and games, she would not have let him worry like this.

"Doris, Doris, Doris!" called Bill, running around frantically, glancing behind trees looking for any sign of his sister.

Further up the trail appeared a middle aged couple, both dressed for hiking. They saw Bill and could tell even from this distance that the young man was in some sort of distress, so hurried down.

"Is everything okay, young man?" asked the husband.

Bill shook his head. "No, I can't find my sister Doris. We were hiking. She turned the corner into the clearing, but now I can't see her." Although Bill knew deep down it could not be the case, he asked the couple, "You haven't seen her? She's slim, medium height, long red hair ..."

The wife shook her head. "No, we haven't seen anyone this morning."

"She can't have got far," said the husband with confidence. "Let's just have a look around, and I'm sure there is nothing to worry about."

The trio began to search the clearing, looking into the woods trying to find any trace of the missing girl, their voices calling her name breaking the eerie silence of the Glastonbury woods and the famed Long Trail of Bennington.

Suddenly Bill paused, seeing something on the ground near a tree trunk. He rushed over, the married couple behind him and held up the blue ribbon with which Doris had tied back her hair before commencing the hike ...

*

NEWARK, NEW JERSEY, USA

Violet Martino lit her cigarette as she walked through the near empty, early morning streets of Newark to the bus stop that would take her to her job as an auto mechanic. The very pretty, slim 18-year-old Italian-American with long dark hair tied back with a scarf, wearing a blouse and knee-length skirt, kept a close watch on her surroundings with her big dark-brown eyes walking down the street, carrying a bag containing her work clothes. Growing up in this rough neighborhood made her streetwise, and Violet knew that you had to be tough to survive, given that she was the middle of seven children raised during the Great Depression, not that things were sunshine and roses before that from what her parents and grandparents often spoke about.

An auto mechanic was an unusual career for a young woman, but Violet loved automobiles as much as her brothers and definitely the tomboy of the three sisters, had jumped at the chance to learn this trade. With so many young men serving overseas, women had to step up so America did not grind to a halt. It was unusual for Violet to work on a Saturday morning, but things were busy and with the country at war, everybody had to do their bit. Plus there was the extra money. Violet sometimes wondered about what would happen when the war ended and the men came back. If life for Violet after this point involved getting married and raising kids in the projects, serving an ungrateful husband who pulled in a poverty level wage, then this was not for her.

Violet lit another cigarette as she sat at the stop and waited for both her friend Shirley and the bus, hoping that Shirley would arrive first. Never in her life had she met anybody who ran late for everything like Shirley, and Violet swore the girl would be late for her own funeral. With plenty of time to fill, Violet thought back to last night and the two young sailors she and Shirley had met at the long dance. Pleasurable feelings ran through Violet's body as she thought about how she had gone back to a van driven by Tom, the sailor whom she had spent the evening with and climbed into the back with him. Tom had undressed her, removing her shoes, then her dress, her bra and finally her panties. Violet's mind's eye relived the sensation of her opening her legs, and feeling Tom's more-than-adequate manhood push up into the confines of her vagina, his penis taking her to one pleasure after another as they screwed.

After finishing and dressing, they had exited the back of the van to find Shirley and the second sailor waiting, they second couple getting into the back of the van to take their places. Violet felt the tingling between her legs and her panties getting damp as she recalled every second of the details of last night, and looked forward to the dance she and Shirley would be attending this Saturday evening.

"Come on Shirley, where are you?" muttered Violet in her pronounced New Jersey dialect. She finished her second cigarette and was contemplating a third when a circular shadow enshrouded her. Violet casually glanced upwards, expecting to see a puffy white cloud obscuring the sun on this flawless Saturday morning when she froze, her mouth agape.

The object casting the shadow was indeed circular, but it was no cloud. Violet got to her feet, craning her neck to see what on Earth it was. Possibly it was an airship? No, it couldn't be. Violet thought back to a rainy afternoon in May 1937, seeing the huge silver bulk of the Hindenburg fly overhead on her way home from school, then the shock of hearing on the radio later that evening of what had happened when it attempted to moor at Lakehurst. There were no airships after that.

There was no way this thing was an airplane. Airplanes made a great deal of noise, were nowhere near this size and could not hover. It was at this point that Violet became aware of the silence of the Newark streets, an eerie, terrifying silence. The tough, streetwise girl had few fears but for some reason eerie silences were one thing that did un-nerve her. It was enough to enact the 'fight or flight' response in Violet and she turned to run, but similar to bad dreams she found herself stuck to the spot, staring upwards at the saucer shaped craft with a turret on the topside as a blue light came down towards her and Violet blacked out ...

Further up the street Shirley, blonde and wearing a flowery green dress, ran for the bus, like her friend Violet carrying her work-clothes in a bag. She expected to see her friend waiting for her at the stop, and so was surprised when Violet was not there. It was unusual, in fact unique, for Violet to be running later than her. Shirley sat down at the bus stop, grabbing a quick cigarette and waiting for Violet to appear, but her friend was nowhere to be seen.

The bus arrived, and Shirley went to board, thinking that perhaps Violet was sick today or had slept in. It was then that the young woman noticed something on the ground. It was a cigarette packet, the same brand that Violet always smoked, under the bus stop seat. Shirley puzzled over the find. If Violet was home taken ill, she couldn't have left her smokes here. Maybe the smokes belonged to somebody else, but it was a pretty odd coincidence that another person should so carelessly leave their cigarettes here, the same brand as Violet's when she should be here, but wasn't.

"You gonna get on my bus or what Miss?" came the impatient voice of the bus driver.

"Oh yes, of course, sorry," mumbled Shirley, taking the cigarettes, boarding the bus and paying for her fare. On the way to work through the streets of Newark, Shirley's mind worked overtime. There was probably a logical explanation for Violet's absence from the bus stop. Violet was sick, and unable to get through on the party line to call Shirley and let her know she would be away from work. The cigarettes were dropped by another woman. But who would be tying up the party line for hours so early in the morning, and what were the chances of a packet of Violet's preferred brand of cigarettes being in the same place where Violet should have been? And Violet was in perfectly good health yesterday. It seemed odd at best. Shirley resolved that she would call the Martino house as soon as she reached work to find out what had happened.

*

FORT LAUDERDALE, FLORIDA, USA

Even if the world in 1943 was filled with peace and harmony, Michael Doyle would still have worn the uniform of a naval officer. Growing up in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Michael had counted the days until he turned 18 and could enlist, this day arriving in 1942 soon after the United States of America entered the war following the attack on Pearl Harbor.

Michael, a tall and handsome young man with red hair had quickly risen to the rank of sub-lieutenant, and the ambitious and able young man would no doubt rise much higher still. His cool, level-headed approach and natural leadership had seen him excel in dangerous missions at sea for more than a year. This was escorting liberty ships through the treacherous waters of the North Atlantic filled with mines and German U-boats to get vital supplies to war-torn Britain.

Now for a short time at least Michael was stationed at Fort Lauderdale, and engaged in working with naval aircraft, before heading out to sea again either in the North Atlantic or the equally dangerous Pacific. This Saturday morning he was part of a crew to take five new Catalina Seaplanes out on their paces, and had risen early to take a walk around the base before duty called.

Some gray clouds hung overhead when Michael looked out to sea and the rising yellow sun when the young naval officer stopped after catching sight of something high in the sky out of the corner of his left eye. At first he thought it was a large plane, something like a Martin Mariner Flying Boat but as the aircraft drew closer, it was obvious that it was no plane. Michael's eyes widened as the object neared the shoreline. He had not seen anything like this, not ever. It was gray in color, shaped like a saucer and had a turret on the top. Most curiously it moved with a complete silence, the only sounds audible to Michael those of the rolling waves at the beach and the calls of a distant gull.

Michael had no idea what this thing was, but was alert immediately to the possibility that it was some kind of enemy aircraft of German or Japanese origin, although how the Nazis or the Japanese could manufacture such an object and fly it so far was a mystery. Michael knew he had to alert the base to the threat if it was not already picked up on radar so turned to run, but found himself frozen to the spot. Again, he tried to move his legs, and again nothing happened. He tried to call out, and no sound emerged from his mouth. All the young sailor could do was stare at the object as it flew closer and closer, before a feeling of intense dizziness swept over him and everything went black as a beam of blue light emerged from the underside of the craft ...

Commander Fred Tyler, Michael Doyle's commanding officer assembled the team of men who were scheduled to take the new Catalina seaplanes on their training exercise and was dismayed to find that one man was missing from the team. He was puzzled to find that the missing man was Michael Doyle, a first rate naval officer, reliable and dedicated. It was not like the young man to go AWOL.

"Find Doyle, tell him to get his ass out here," Commander Tyler barked at a group of six men. "He works to our schedule, not the Navy to Doyle's schedule."

"Sir, yes, sir!" responded the sailors who went to search for the missing young officer, but returned after a thorough search of the dormitories, the common rooms and the latrines with nothing.

"Where is he?" asked Commander Tyler.

"Sir, we could not find Doyle, Sir," responded one of the sailors.

Tyler frowned in frustration and confusion. Where was Doyle? The man was no deserter. Tyler saw another man approaching, his own superior Captain Gregory, and saluted the senior officer.

"Is there a problem, Tyler?" asked Captain Gregory.

"Sir, Sub-Lieutenant Doyle appears to be missing, Sir," said Tyler.

Captain Gregory was likewise puzzled. Doyle was a young man with a bright future, which he would not want to damage by ending up on a charge of being AWOL. "Missing?" asked Gregory. "That is a surprise. Tyler, take Spalding on the flight in place of Sub-Lieutenant Doyle, and I will arrange a search of the base."

"Sir, yes Sir," said Tyler, the two officers parting company with salutes, Tyler arranging the flight, and Gregory the search. Both men knew something was completely wrong. Doyle would never desert or avoid his duties. So where on Earth was he?

*

SPRINGFIELD, MISSOURI, USA

Kim Collins was a girl blessed with the classic Midwestern looks of blonde hair and blue eyes, her stature tall, her figure slim. On this Saturday morning, 18-year-old Kim stood in the bedroom she shared with two of her sisters in her parents' house on the semi-rural outskirts of Springfield, Missouri, wearing only her white bra and white panties. Reaching into her closet, Kim took out and put on her best dress, a pretty blue frock that she wore to church every Sunday and slipped her bare feet into white shoes. Brushing her long blonde hair in the mirror, Kim put on a broad-brimmed hat and looked a picture of pretty perfection dressed for her older cousin's wedding on the other side of Springfield.

No matter what Kim wore, she always looked perfect whether dressed up nice in her Sunday best, in an ordinary dress or wearing her checked shirt and overalls as part of her job on a farm. Kim had commenced working on the land due to the enlistments of many male farm workers in the area, and while the work was hard, Kim had no aversion to hard toil and she and her friends saw it as doing their own bit for the war effort.

Going downstairs, Kim could see that her mother, father and siblings were likewise dressed in their Sunday best. As her father adjusted his tie, he said to his eldest daughter, "Kim, could you please put the cows back in their shed before we go?" Kim just seemed to have a natural ability to handle animals, and could even get donkeys and mules to comply with her wishes.

"Sure Dad," said Kim, immediately going out the kitchen door and through the vegetable garden to the field at the back of their house, where the cows and their shed were located. Taking care where she stood for obvious reasons, Kim felt the early morning breeze of the Ozarks spring up lifting the hem of her dress, Kim pulling it back down to stop her panties showing.