BE FOREWARNED. The following story contains sexually explicit material not suited for those who have not yet achieved the age of maturity. If you should fall into this category, do not read further. Consult the laws of your community to clarify if you are eligible to read adult sexual material. The theme is transsexual. If this type of reading matter offends you, read no further. Go do something else. Standard disclaimer applies. Any association with real people, places, events, or entities is purely coincidental.

 

The Secret Service        by: Virginia Kane              © 2001 All rights reserved.

 

Part One.

Chapter One.

Gene Frestin sat in front of the parlor radio with his mom, dad and brother Joe, as did other families throughout the nation. "…. A day that will live in infamy…" FDR’s unique drawl pierced the silence of the evening all across the land, telling of the brutal attack on Pearl Harbor in the Hawaiian Islands. Gene’s family and the whole world hung on every word from the angry lips of the President that spoke of a distant strategic outpost unknown to many citizens of a proud country. This was it. The peace loving United States was hurled into the escalating spiral of diabolical world war by a despicable, cowardly, sneak attack committed by the Empire of Japan upon a tiny perimeter bastion of defense situated mid the vast Pacific Ocean halfway around the world, our closest link to our Asian neighbors.

When the Presidential address was finally over, everyone sat huddled in shocked silence, lost in thought. The savage air attack inflicted heavy losses of life; boldly underlining the vulnerability of a naïve nation that failed to recognize the warning signals amid in the recent pattern of events that led up to the fiery travesty.

Forever marred was the peaceful countenance of a tiny tropical paradise in the South Pacific. As a result, the bulk of the population of a brave nation sat in fear and dread; not knowing the identities of the brave young men whose lives ended or those maimed in the mêlée. You could hear a pin drop. FDR’s words echoed in their minds. Gene’s mom started to cry silently and dad put his arm around her to comfort her. She had friends whose children were serving their country. Were any of them among those lost boys far, far away from their loved ones?

Several sighs and sobs later, Joe stood up. "Looks like the thing to do is join up to get this thing over with as soon as possible. The gall of those slimy creeps!"

Dad spoke. "Joe, I expect the phone to ring at any time. Please don’t tie up the line by calling buddies to find out who’s planning to do what tomorrow.

I expect to be requested to fill a position crucial to the war effort. The Army Dept. may even call up my officer’s commission. Mama, please unpack my old army uniforms. See if they need cleaning or pressing, just in case. I may need them in a hurry." The man wanted to offer his loving wife a task to preoccupy her troubled mind. She had sons. Her elder son just voiced plans to do his duty. Did he have any idea of the dangers awaiting him? Children. They all think they are invincible. She was less than willing to sacrifice her sons. Yet, she knew they would do what was right and serve their country well in this time of need.

Gene’s dad was a chemical engineer. It was a safe bet that he’d be needed. His employer had government contracts to fill. Soon, new contracts for munitions and goods essential to the war effort would follow. Gene watched his dad pace back and forth across the room. He wished he could help his parents somehow, but knew he had nothing but his love and admiration to offer.

At twenty-one, he had just received his G.E.D. diploma. Two and a half years of his short life were wasted because of a nasty fall. He was on his back for much of that time and unable to attend high school with his friends. He lost touch with the old friends that he laughed and played kid games with before his accident and never did make new friends in the high school that he was assigned to, but never attended, after the slip that resulted in his multiple fractured bones, and several other debilitating injuries.

After six years of pain, surgery, physical therapy, and painful traction Gene’s limp was nearly imperceptible, but it was there, though his body was unmarred with visible scars. His recent selective service rating was 4-F, declaring him unfit for military duty. His brother Joe was 1-A and likely to be called into the service of his country in the immediate future as the nation readied itself for armed conflict.

He was as active a kid as any when he was younger, but that all changed when he blundered carelessly and took a nasty spill. At the time, his dad was off work for over six months in the height of the depression. Researchers are expendable during economic downturns. One day it seemed that the family luck was finally taking a turn for the better. Dad got a job, but it required relocation from Denver to Omaha. No one hired movers to relocate back then. If you had any furniture left after pawning and selling it off cheap to pay the rent and grocery bills, you loaded it into a borrowed truck, if you knew someone who had one to loan to you.

Gene was climbing out of the back of the truck body, over the raised tailgate after adding the last few smaller items to the load after the tailgate was raised up. The truck bed had two long parallel strips of steel running from front to back of the bed. The early morning’s rainstorm made the wet metal strips as slick as ice.

As he straddled the tailgate, Gene lost his footing on the wet metal, came down hard on the edge of the tailgate and blacked out from searing pain at his groin. When he woke up, he was in a hospital, with a broken leg in traction from the fall to the ground that occurred after he blacked out. Besides the broken right leg, three broken right ribs were wrapped in tape, and his right forearm was set in a cast. The simple act of breathing caused him severe pain for days. His mom sat in vigil beside his bed from the moment he first woke up. She was there every time he came out of the drug-induced haze they referred to as sleep.

He looked at his mother in fear the first time he woke, for being so careless and incurring a big expense to the family when they could ill afford it. She didn’t give him a hard time, more concerned for his recovery than over the cause. He was a teenager. They do things without thinking of safety. What good would it do for her to chastise a boy who was in agony? He already got the lesson of a lifetime.

She had a wonderful sense of perspective, as most mothers do. Wagging fingers at him wouldn’t help matters, but her hugs and kisses might lessen the throbbing she knew he endured throughout his young body. She smothered him with love, warmth and the reassurance that his swift, full recovery was her only concern.

However, Gene’s recovery was neither swift nor full. His left pelvic fracture wasn’t detected in the rudimentary x-rays the hospital took. All of his other injuries were on the right side from the fall to the ground. His left pelvis injury occurred when his hip struck the edge of the tailgate. They discovered the oversight later as his left inner bun became bruised and swollen. An infection spread to his inflamed testicles. The pain Gene suffered from the other injuries was so intense, he was unable to alert his attendants to the severe pains he felt in his groin and buttocks.

The extent of damage to his crushed left testicle prompted doctors to advise its immediate surgical removal to prevent its spread to the right one, which showed potential for healing. The medical staff assured his mother that he should retain function as a male and be able to recover, once the crushed left testicle would be removed. She had to make a decision alone. Dad already reported for work at his new job. He didn’t dare procrastinate. Too many unemployed men were vying to fill the offered position had he failed to report to the company timely.

In retrospect, it was a wise move. The injury occurred after his dad accepted the position. He had been added to the company payroll before he made his plans to relocate the family to live near his new job. He had gone on ahead to sign on and start work. The company’s generous health insurance was in effect when Gene fell. It was sheer good fortune that the company was progressive. It offered good benefits to employees. Government contracts influenced the firm’s employment practices. Fringe benefits such as medical insurance were still not common back in the thirties. Times were hard then. Very few people had medical insurance.

The doctors that examined Gene didn’t admit their failure to properly diagnose his condition earlier, out of fear of being accused of gross negligence.

Had they detected the hip injury sooner, proper alignment of his left hip could have been done in time. Had they detected his groin injury soon enough, Gene would have had a better chance to retain his ability to sire children someday.

His dad’s background in research chemistry gave the family a glimmer of hope that he could have children someday. Research was being done to find ways to preserve body fluids, including sperm. His dad had the foresight to have the little remaining live sperm taken from Gene’s ruptured left testicle to be cryogenically preserved. The hospital conceded, in hope of thwarting legal action against them. They honored his request to have specialists examine Gene.

 

The state of the medical profession has made long strides since Gene’s incident.

However, in 1935, the specialists from the college Mr. Frestin attended had to be called upon to perform the necessary procedures to assure success. Preserving sperm was still quite uncommon. The local hospital where Gene stayed wasn’t equipped for it. University doctors suspected other issues, found them and then advised his move. The arrangements to move him took precious time.

Meanwhile, infection spread to Gene’s right testicle. In desperation, subsequent procedures concentrated on realigning the shattered pelvis in his left hip, which compounded the massive infection. Eventually Gene’s right testicle atrophied and the mending hip required subsequent reconstruction, before he could hobble out of the new hospital of his own accord on crutches.

Two and a half years! His mom remained with Gene in Omaha all that time. His brother Joe accompanied dad to Denver. Money was scarce. Joe studied at a local college, and dad worked. Dad visited Gene whenever he could get away, but it was two years since Gene saw Joe. When Gene was released from the hospital in the fall of 1937 Joe was waiting in an old jalopy to bring Gene to his family. Gene had spent over two years in a lonely world filled with pain and drugs. The two brothers had a great time getting reacquainted along the way.

Joe explained that mom was busy packing up for a move to the city of Chicago. Dad was assigned to work at the University of Chicago for a Dr. Fermi. The name didn’t ring a bell with Gene. Gene was cloistered away, so he didn’t know about the famous nuclear scientist. Science wasn’t on Gene’s list of favorite endeavors.

Gene wasn’t a high achiever to begin with, and his long stay in hospitals didn’t bolster his ambitions. Social Security was in its infancy, when it recognized Gene as being disabled. He hated the sound of the words. DISABLED! CRIPPLE! So what if he had a slight limp. He could walk and manage well on his own after yet another year of recovery. He didn’t want to be babied anymore.

Yet, he was weak from being bedridden for so long, and wasn’t spry as his peers were. He envied their aggressiveness, eager to take on the whole world. Joe was a prime example. Gene’s parents never favored Joe, but it was obvious that they were proud of the older son’s achievements in sports and academics.

Now, three more years later, in the face of a national crisis, Joe was ready and willing to give up his life in the defense of the nation. How could Gene not resent his big brother’s freedom of choice? Joe could offer to protect the country from harm, but Gene wouldn’t be allowed to. After hearing Joe’s bold acclamations, his skin crawled. Why? Why couldn’t he be offered a chance to do something to show that he was just as patriotic? Fat chance he’d ever become a hero.

In February of 1942, Joe was on his way to Europe. Gene’s mom would read the letters Joe sent to them out loud at the dinner table. By this time, Gene got over being jealous of Joe. He resigned himself to his fate, assembling gas masks that were to be shipped off to the war. It was a chance to be involved in the war effort, even if it was a paltry job, a lousy job! The girls that he worked with, side by side, jabbered incessantly about their boyfriends’ latest exploits. That was the way he spent the following six months. He felt he was only fit to do girls’ work.

It didn’t dawn on him that man women were doing men’s work because all the jocks were packing rifles and bleeding to death on a battlefield on some obscure island or out in the vast desert of North Africa. To him, he only envisioned the glories of brave men, standing up to adversity, proud and elegant, dressed up in crisp military uniforms; uniforms he wasn’t qualified to wear.

 

The tedium of the job and smell of the fresh rubber of the gas masks he handled day after day made him feel ill. He reported to a nurse’s station to get something to quell his anxious stomach. He was surprised to see that the white uniformed station attendant was another man, not the regular nurse.

"Excuse me, sir. Is the nurse around?"

When the man turned around to respond to his question, Gene noticed the limp. It was hard to miss. It was far worse than Gene’s. The man explained that he was a nurse: a medic. He was here temporarily while he awaited surgery. He got hit with shrapnel from a nearby exploding delayed fuse bomb while extracting a wounded civilian from debris of a collapsed building in England. He’d return to duty as soon as he was declared physically able. The man was a war hero.

Gene’s delicate façade collapsed. Since the outbreak of the war, Gene regretted not being fit to serve. His resolve folded up and he began sobbing uncontrollably before a stranger, agonized over his physical weakness and guilt for not being able to show that, inside, he was as heroic as any guy that ever hefted a gun.

"How? They won’t take me and your limp is way worse than mine!"

"Oh, that? I got hit in the back and my right arm with the shrapnel. I messed up my leg in a car accident ages ago. My limp has nothing to do with my being here. I’m fit enough. I’m a medic. Stateside I hand out aspirins, and mark them for duty.

In combat, I plugged up the wounds with bandages and splinted shattered bones, sticking men with syringes full of morphine to stop their screaming. Never got a scratch on me in combat. On leave in London, I was on my merry way to dinner when the German bombers came over. People don’t ask you what your rank or occupation is when you pull them from the rubble after a bombing and stop them from bleeding to death. They thank their lucky stars a medic was nearby. War is Hell. You have no idea how lucky you are, pal. Without your problem, you could be in that death hole in North Africa instead of safely at home."

"That’s just it. I can’t. I tried. No branch of the service would take me. I’m 4-F."

"Prove you’re a trained medic and they’ll take you without blinking an eye. They’ll ignore your present defects as long as you can stand up on your feet. Medics are in short supply. They can’t get enough of us. It’s tough to go into battle carrying a weapon. Medics have to go with little protection and no weapons.

Just as fast as the doctors can remove the piece of steel I have inside, near my heart, they’ll slap a duty able label on me and I’ll be sent somewhere to serve, even if it’s a stateside tending to the wounded. I had enough of this war to last me ten lifetimes. Don’t be too eager to go if you don’t have to. Mark my words."

"I don’t care. My past injuries don’t bother me as much as the thought of being left out. Unless I get a chance to serve, I’ll feel I’m worthless in my family’s eyes for the rest of my life. You see, even if I died in battle, my life will amount to more than staying behind, in a job like the one I’m doing here. Let the girls make these damned gas masks for the war. I want to be a part of what’s happening."

"I believe you, kid but you don’t need to be out somewhere in the trenches. There are plenty of jobs here that are critical to victory. This isn’t a picnic. Lots of good men will die before this tragic thing is over. Think about it carefully."

"I’ve been thinking of nothing else since last December."

"Well, to be honest, like you, I was turned down by every branch of the American armed forces. I went to Canada and got turned down up there, too. I was about to give up. A guy with a real weird accent was at the recruiting station in Windsor, scrounging for men. It seems the Japanese are pummeling his homeland, and he was after volunteers. They’d become trained medics aboard ship. They wouldn’t need to relinquish their present citizenships or take an oath of allegiance to his country: New Zealand. They’d be international medical volunteers."

"Where do I sign up?"

"Beats me. I came back to the States and took a crash course in the first aid for flesh wounds. With a new diploma in my fist, I went back to Canada expecting to be welcomed like a long lost brother at the Canadian recruiting office.

I was declined entry at the border crossing station and sent back home. Seems Canada doesn’t have sufficient volunteers that are crazy enough to venture into combat unarmed, but neither do we. Americans who know first aid are asked to report to any recruiting station to find out where to volunteer. I was accepted at an Army recruiting office. You shouldn’t have a problem. Just between you and me, I’d think twice before leaping off to war. I’ve been out there. Believe me. You don’t want to go.

You’re too eager. Recruiters will turn you down flat if they think you’re some sicko that gets his jollies from seeing blood spilled. You need nerves of steel to handle what you’ll find up at the front. It’s stark and brutal. Better prepare yourself for it.

See a spiritual counselor, or your pastor, first. He’ll tell you if you’re motives are sincere. Then, visit a military hospital to see if you can handle all the stress that’s involved. Military hospitals are crammed with men who took hard hits.

We’re off to a slow start in this war and not making much headway. Our brilliant war strategists are babes in the woods compared to the enemy’s. If you want to be a hero, forget about it, but if you want to help, volunteer to tend to those who have been there and made it back home with most of their parts still attached. That’s where I hope I’ll get assigned next, once they remove the sliver of steel in me. I can’t handle any more battle gore and they won’t let me help guys that are in worse shape than I am in my condition. Until then, I’m stuck being a nursemaid to ladies that think a hangnail is a serious injury."

 

Chapter Two.

 

Gene left work that day with his mind set on a goal. He was a good Christian, but he felt his dad was closer to being his spiritual guide than the string of pastors they encountered along the way as dad traveled across the country in his job.

Seems that Gene’s dad was a sort of specialist. Gene’s dad wanted his sons to follow in his footsteps, but Gene lacked the education and intellect needed to become good in dad’s profession. Besides, Gene didn’t have a prayer of chance of getting accepted into a college with only a G.E.D., not in 1941.

 

"Dad, I’d like to have a talk. I need advise about something, something serious."

"Sure son. After dinner, we’ll sit in the yard while mom cleans up. Can you give me a clue as to what this is all about, so I can think on it?"

"Sure. I’ve an idea about a way I can become involved in the war effort in a more meaningful way than assembling gas masks in a factory. I’d like to try to become a medic. I’ve been told that medics are needed everywhere and my bad hip won’t keep me out of the action if I acquire the skills needed to tend to injured soldiers. I’ll be able to serve behind front lines, where it’s safer, but still in the thick of it."

"Well, that’s a tall order, don’t you think?"

"I can do it, dad. There are crash courses offered to meet the demand. I’ll apply for one and be ready to serve in no time. What do you think dad?"

"I think the two of us will discuss it after supper alone. I don’t want to upset your mother. A letter from Joe came with unpleasant news. I’m not sure having two sons to fret over will be wise right now. Your last stay in a hospital aged your mother considerably, son. Do me a big favor. Don’t bring this up at the table."

"I guess my timing is bad, huh?"

"No fault on your part. I’m going to go out of town for a while and can’t take the two of you with me. I … here’s your mother. Let’s have a quiet dinner now."

At the dinner table, after dinner was over, mom opened a letter from Joe as they relaxed, sipped coffee and ate dessert. Actually the thin envelope was the letter. To save weight, the inside of the envelope was used instead of a sheaf of paper. A tiny weight saving, but it added up. Thousands of servicemen wrote home. A poppy seed coffee cake mom got at the local Polish bakery shop was a fitting crown to the pork loin and potatoes mom set on the dinner table. Her cooking was the best and she wanted something sweet while she read Joe’s letter.

Dear mom and dad,

I can’t tell you how much I miss you. The heat and sand of North Africa is worse than anything in the States, including Nevada. The sandstorms are so severe all the equipment is ____________(censored). No matter how well we cover up the _______ and ________, sand gets into everything.

_______________________________________________(Censored.)

I was in __________(censored) last ___________(censored) trying to get in touch With Kevin Riley from _________(censored). He’s gone home. If you get a chance, write to his mother in _________(censored). He got nicked at El Allemain. I’ll miss his red hair jokes. Damn the Irish.

We got our butts kicked. The Nazis were laying in wait for us and wiped out the ________________________. Heavy, heavy bombardment by their artillery followed by _______________________(censored).

I’m still in R&R at ________________(censored). Just lucky, I guess.

I’ll write again as soon as I can.

Love,

Joe

"Why do they bother to censor Joe’s letters home? Does the Army think he’d give out secrets to the enemy with his life on the line? It doesn’t make sense to me. They blacked out Mary and Tom Riley’s hometown. Why? I know they’re living in Omaha. Yet they didn’t censor the place where our army lost a big battle. They play too much cloak and dagger if you ask me."

"Now darling, I think the Nazis know that they won that battle already, so it isn’t revealing anything. You know Mary’s address, so they deleted it. Why should anyone else learn it if Joe’s letter was intercepted en route? Leave security to the Army and assume they know what they’re doing. For all the enemy knows, this letter could be a coded message that means something altogether different from what it appears to be. Censoring it merely throws the enemy spies off track"

"Don’t you start patronizing me again! The very idea, secret coded messages."

"Gene and I will go for a short stroll while you clean up the dinner table, mama. Later, we’ll break open a bottle of grape juice to toast to Joe’s good fortune. As long as he keeps writing to us regularly, we know that he’s safe. It’s a shame we can’t get any decent wine these days. Your cooking deserves to be served with a nice chilled bottle of fine wine. Good for the digestion, too."

Gene’s dad had a way with words to distract his wife’s concerns for the son that wasn’t home with them. Countless homes across the land waited patiently for a few words from their children at war. That’s what they were: children. Gene’s dad was convinced that war should only be waged using soldiers that were over forty years old. They’d soon tire of the folly and sue for peace. Modern warfare had no winners in his book, only losers. Soon after the last war, each country resumed its day-to-day business as if the countless loss of lives was meaningless.

 

"Why are we taking a walk, dad? I thought you wanted to relax in the yard."

"Son, I don’t want your mother to overhear what I’m going to say. She’d have a fit. You said you’d like to get involved in this bloody war. I think you have a better grasp than most boys about what a war entails because of your injuries.

War entails a lot of bloodshed, pain and anguish for politics and philosophies. In your own way, you make good sense. Instead of waging war, we should send a bevy of medics: doctors and nurses to the enemy. Cure them of what ails them rather than dashing out the brains of their youth. Mind you, I don’t want you to be put in harm’s way, by any means, but I would like you to pursue this route.

Who knows? After this conflict is over, you’ll continue in school and get into the medical profession. I’d like to see you try. There are plenty of ways to serve our nation and its people, but this is a dilly and I’m behind you one hundred percent. Now, how do we approach your mother with it? We have to be careful.

To think, you too want to save lives, not destroy them. I’m proud of you, Gene. If you only knew what our great nation wants from me. My research was directed toward developing Einstein’s theories of relativity toward healing the infirmed by using nuclear energy. Imagine what a blessing it could be. Now, they want me to perfect a way to destroy lives in greater numbers with the same knowledge. My colleagues and I are dead set against it. We’re even considering resigning.

Politicians are begging us to take part in the war. I’m not at liberty to tell you how, but I want you to know that the project that I am working on may provide us new ways to help mankind someday. Not only here in America, but all over the world. It’s time for all men to realize that we cannot continue to destroy our planet and it’s people for ridiculous ideological inconsistencies. We must preserve this world of ours and my work may give us new ways to preserve our natural resources.

To secure adequate funding for research from the powers that be, we scientists agreed to investigate the potential of weapons of mass destruction. We sincerely hope that these weapons will never have to be used. We know that the scientists loyal to our enemies are already way ahead of us in nuclear research. We must catch up and quickly. I don’t mean to alarm you, but we are on the verge of new horizons previously unknown. If we don’t accelerate our programs and they solve the remaining unknowns before we do, the world will be at the mercy of a crazed demon with the ability to destroy civilization to achieve his power crazed aims.

Gene, Joe isn’t stationed in Africa. Security agents wrote those letters to your mother for me. He’s in school, learning chemistry, to take up where I leave off when the time comes. He feels guilty studying while others risk their very lives, but obeyed my insisting he stay in school. I am proud that you want to serve your country too; but like Joe, putting you at risk may jeopardize research that has just begun to make headway. I don’t know what I’d do if you or Joe were abducted.

We cannot take any chances. Joe is studying under an assumed name to avoid needless exposure. False records show that he is in a hospital recovering from battle fatigue. Foreign agents were detected trying to locate him there. The reason you aren’t at risk is because of false rumors that you are addled headed.

Disregard that nonsense. It merely affords you more freedom from needing more protection by government agents. Didn’t you think it was odd that you found the convenient job within walking distance of our house? You are safe, as long as you aren’t considered a potential means of being used to get at me.

Mother has no idea that our neighbors on both sides are guarding us. Foster isn’t a retired schoolteacher. Kozubowski isn’t a piano teacher. That isn’t even his real name. Up until now, you were kept safe. If you should wander outside the area and perimeter of protection, you can become a burden to security. The entire campus is secure, but our ranks are growing rapidly. More scientists are joining this project every day, and the risks will increase exponentially. Soon, we’ll need to move it to a safer location. I can’t divulge where or even when it will happen.

We’d best return home now. Your mother will be wondering where we went. Do you want me to be scolded by her, son? I’ll have to spank you if she does."

He could make light of any situation with a sudden quip. "Come on, dad. Why would she do that? … Dad? Why have told me now if I don’t pose a problem to you? Oh, my idea can create a problem. I see."

 

"If you care to devote your future to serving our nation, it will have to be in a safe manner, one that would not expose you to becoming a pawn for an enemy to be bartered against my dedication to the future safety of the world.

We will discuss the matter again, after I address the issue to my superiors. You are not to divulge our conversation to anyone. Understand? Tell no one, not even your innocent mother. She is a proud woman. I will not bring her shame from her friends. Their sons are dying in the war. It is essential for her to not be exposed to any jealousy and resentment born of preferential treatment to Joe or you.

Security is sufficient a burden to impose upon you at your age. I have important work to do. I can’t attend to these matters in my own way, as I would wish. I must defer to those who are experts." They approached the house. "Remember. Not a word of this to your mother."

For the following several weeks, Gene was suspicious of everyone but remained at his job assembling gas masks. Someone else soon replaced the man he met at the nurse’s station at work. Gene didn’t speak with him again, afraid that he might be an enemy agent setting him up for a kidnapping. His father took him out for walks in the evenings, but they never discussed his father’s work again. Gene did not want to be a burden to his father. His accident had caused his parents enough grief. He bided his time, assured that his father would be true to his word and provide Gene with an avenue to be more useful, when the time came.

 

 

Chapter Three.

 

Disaster. Two scientists working at the University were found tortured to death. Only rumors within the neighborhood alerted the family of the missing members of the research team. The media was silent, other than a small by-line about two university teachers who recently died in a tragic fire.

What wasn’t known was what information was extracted from them before they met their doom. Several key personnel were whisked away in secrecy. The cozy neighborhood began to resemble a ghost town until new tenants occupied the vacated homes. Gene decided the factory could survive without him. He chose to remain home beside his mother, feigning illness to be near her. Gene made sure she didn’t go out of the house, not even to do the weekly grocery shopping.

When dad didn’t arrive home for dinner when expected one evening, she began to worry and called his office. He wasn’t there. As the night descended, two men from the government that she had met previously with her husband came calling. They told her they would take her to him and Gene was obliged to join them.

Without telling either Gene or his mother, they went to Midway Airport with only the clothes on their backs and boarded a nondescript transport plane destined for points unknown, and flew off into the night. The long trip was uneventful and they landed in the dead of night at an airport in the middle of nowhere and were taken to a modest hotel bustling with what Gene assumed were government security personnel. Dad met with his wife and son for a few minutes. He assured them everything was fine, then left. They were to remain at the hotel until they could join him.

 

They did for over two weeks, virtual prisoners along with many people that they recognized from around the university campus and many they had never met. They had daily visitors that came to the room in pairs and asked questions about relatives, friends and even social and business contacts. The experience of being held in secrecy against their will was nerve-wracking. Being interrogated was far worse. They feared that they might have done something wrong that jeopardized whatever Gene’s dad was working on.

Finally, a conference was called and everyone who still remained at the hotel was assembled into a banquet room. Arrangements had been made for a safer relocation. Transportation by bus over dusty, unpaved roads took them all to a small community out in the vast desert. They had no idea where they were taken. No one was willing to explain anything. They were assigned to a small house and their personal belongings were already awaiting them. They were cautioned not to speak with anyone they didn’t know personally until they were "debriefed".

After a few days, they were taken to what looked like a prison camp, with barbed wire and guard dogs, led around on leashes by unfriendly military policemen. Gene couldn’t decide if enemy agents were holding them, disguised as MP’s or if they were at a legit government outpost. His mother was even more terrified.

In small groups, they were given lectures on national security, ways to recognize being tricked into idle talk that could leak vital information to an enemy, and given a synopsis of the purpose of the secret base and why they were brought there. If there was any doubt of the importance of his father’s duties, the government took it away when were cautioned to remain inside the provided homes. Anyone who was caught wandering beyond where they were allowed to go could be shot on sight for suspicion of treason. In the event of a judgment error or any mistake in their identity, apologies to the next of kin would be made in retrospect.

This is what they were told, and they received copies for which they had to sign:

The desert outpost was Los Alamos. The project involved constructing bombs.

They had cleared security checks and were assumed to be loyal Americans who heralded the work being done at this site to bring an end to the war, swiftly.

They were advised of the areas they were not to enter, under any circumstances. There would be no exceptions.

They were there to provide comfort and solace to the involved participants of the project who needed time off to rest and relax with their families to be effective.

Gathering in groups of more than six unsanctioned by the security personnel in advance was discouraged and would be suspect of criminal breach of security.

Social functions would be arranged to ease their boredom from a lack of freedom to pursue individual initiatives.

Leaving the base was forbidden unless accompanied by security agents after getting approval as to the purpose and need. Notwithstanding, all communication with individuals outside of the compound was forbidden, regardless of purpose.

Surveillance was to be appreciated, as it was necessary for mutual safety.

Requests for departure would be declined, except for an emergency. Presence here was for the safety and protection of the participants of the program.

All attempts to contact other "guests" or contacts initiated by others should be regarded as acts by and for the benefit of the enemy until proven otherwise.

The notice was from an unidentified head of security.

 

Gene was flabbergasted. He might as well be in prison. Whatever was going on here was of great importance to the outcome of the war. He wanted to become a part of it, but didn’t know how, and if he could figure out a way, he wasn’t sure his zeal would be appreciated. It was obvious that he and his mother posed a risk to his dad. He was being held incommunicado to prevent dad from leaking secrets to the enemy to save Gene’s or his mom’s necks.

 

The weeks that followed were laden with boredom. Now, he missed his dismal job putting together gas masks. At least he had something to do with is hands on the job and met with women daily who were free to go about their lives. Now, his sole contact with the outside world was his AM radio, and it was a being jammed, except for the base’s radio station that droned with constant elevator music.

Gene often recited radio commercials from memory, just to see if he could recall them. The one station on the radio had no commercials. He was the only guy on the post that was his age. At least the younger kids around could play together and have fun. They had school to attend and others their age to pal around with.

His mother shared his boredom and felt sorry for him. She had chores to do and occupied herself with preparing meals for the family, trying new recipes from the cookbooks that she withdrew from the post library. She loved to cook.

The library! He told his mother where he was headed and off he went, his hips swaying from his brisk pace, eager to explore what he’d discover from his new brainstorm. The post library was attached to the post dispensary. Made sense. Sick people often read to while away the boredom of recovering from an illness.

You guessed it. The medic that he met back at the gas mask factory was working in the dispensary. The gent had the surgery done to remove steel fragments from his chest and was recovering nicely. Gene renewed the man’s friendship and told him he often thought about learning first aid since their first talks so he could be of service to his country in some meaningful way.

With little persuasion, he became a library volunteer, who visited the sick to give them reading material, as well as guidance as to which magazines had the latest updates on the war and which showed all the latest in fashions for the ladies. He liked to read the stories about the war, especially the Pacific Theatre. South sea islands and swaying palm trees smacked of pirates and lovely native girls.

The ladies. There were many wives on the post that were having babies. Gene thought the post’s project must have something to do with genetics, as so many women had protruding tummies. He didn’t catch on. The post women were under protection, so their men wouldn’t have to worry about them being abducted to threaten the scientists into reveling secrets to the enemy, nothing more.

There were burn victims in the hospital, too. A new wing was being added to care for the growing number. Some of them weren’t severe, leastwise not obviously so, but they all suffered from dysentery. The entire ward bore a distinctive odor that was unfamiliar to Gene. Instead of improving, the condition of all the burn victims would worsen and they’d be taken away for intensified care. Gene was smart enough to figure out that the burn cases must be related to the research.

Then, the number of new burn victims gradually declined noticeably. Gene asked his father about it one evening. "They have radiation sickness, son. Most of them contracted it before arriving here. You needn’t worry. This post is relatively safe. The amount of radiation inadvertently released is minimal and doesn’t extend beyond the research facility. The housing facility is checked constantly to insure the safety of the residents. There are some other things you might as well know.

Exposure to radiation can cause sterility. You may notice that many of the men’s wives are pregnant. It’s one way that the men can be sure they haven’t impaired their ability to reproduce. They know the government authorities in charge of the project would not lie, but they may not be overly frank, either. They wouldn’t even know how to explain the hazards. They aren’t versed in the field. They know less about it than we scientists do. The men want to have children now, just in case.

Radioactive isotopes in small quantities can appear safe to handle, but some of the effects can accumulate in the body and not become apparent until long after the exposure. The potential gains from our research are well worth taking risks."

Gene never heard his father talk "shop" since the day they arrived in Chicago. He knew his dad was working on a huge new bomb now, and he shouldn’t ask about things his father had to keep to himself. His dad was careful, but loved Gene.

"I wish I knew what I should do to be of more use around here."

"Really? You spend the whole day in the library. What are you reading there?"

"That stuff in the technical textbooks is Greek to me, dad."

"You must have gotten a bump on the noggin when you fell from the truck. You have to learn how to learn in order to translate the jargon into meaningful images. The new wing of the dispensary will have new classrooms. When it’s ready, sign up for some library science courses to help you to retain concepts better. Sooner or later, you will have to select a vocation you’d like to follow for the rest of your life, son. It’s time for you to take stock of your life and make plans for the future."

The following evening, his dad asked Gene if he made a list of jobs that looked interesting yet. "You have to start sometime, or you’ll end up being a common laborer, son. Is that what you want to do with your life?"

 

"I know what your getting at dad, but I can’t do research. The sciences bewilder me, and I haven’t got the least bit of desire to do what you do. Let Joe do it. I’ll find something. I just know science isn’t for me. I do like visiting the infirmary. People are glad to see me. I don’t think I can hack a four-year grind in college."

"What happened to your plans to become a medic? You have a natural knack with caring for people. I wish I had some of it. I’m content to talk to test tubes all day long. Maybe that’s why I’m a chemist. I don’t have good communication skills, unless it pertains to an analytical problem. Everybody has some skills that are better than others. Talk to the gent in the dispensary you met back at the gas mask company about it. I’m sure you have the potential to pursue an interest that could be cultivated into a career. Search for it. I’m sure you’ll find it.

I was hoping you’d discover a career path on your own. I didn’t want you to think I was forcing you into anything, son. You were hot to trot. What happened?

"You don’t miss much, do you, dad? Did you have anything to do with him being here? He was planning to go back to work in a military hospital mending GI’s."

"Son, when the man was interviewed to come here, he was proud of what he did for a living. I might have mentioned something to someone about the man’s potential value to the project. I knew he could be an asset, and that there were apt to be casualties that would need medical attention, so I thought…"

 

"You snagged him so he could talk me into the field of medicine. Dad! I can’t be a doctor. I don’t have the confidence or the brains it takes. Now, he’s here in the middle of nowhere instead of where he wants to be. Was that fair to him?"

"Are any of us where we want to be? And, what makes you think he doesn’t want to be here? He’s earned the right to be stateside. He was awarded a purple heart for the wounds he suffered, and he wasn’t even a combatant. The man has guts. And he’s a survivor. You should listen to him. He has a lot o the ball."

"You seem to know more about him than I do, dad."

"I read his service record. It was impressive for a man who was initially rejected for military duty. You two have a lot in common. It won’t hurt you to talk with him."

 

Gene did, the following day, and several times thereafter. He also enrolled in the course for trauma care, first aid, and took courses in practical nursing, and in two years he got certified. As long as he was stuck in the middle of nowhere, he felt it was necessary to be of value in the infirmary. He was assigned to work with pay, first as a nurse’s aid, then as a practical nurse. His added knowledge of radiation sickness that he learned from his dad, first hand, was of immense practical value.

He didn’t know that his father was a victim of the dreaded radiation exposure and was ill. In spite of his condition, his dad continued to work furiously on his part of the project as long as he could. His dad’s condition gradually worsened, and like the many others, he was transferred elsewhere when he could no long work.

Gene and his mom went along. Dad was moved to a sanitarium not far from Los Alamos, but he didn’t last long. He died taking all the sensitive secrets he knew to his grave. A grateful nation buried him with full military honors. Gene knew his dad was a hero that proudly gave up his life for is country, doing what he felt was the best manner he could serve it.

It was a sad time, but Gene felt obligated to move on and put his medical training to good use. He accompanied his widowed mother to Omaha, where she was born. There, with her sisters and cousins and the extended family, she could put her own life into order as she prayed for the safety of her boys and remembered in reverence the man that gave purpose to her life for over thirty years.

She was one of many thousands of women that mourned losses of life caused by the war, wondering if the sacrifice they endured was warranted. The government pension would sustain her, but couldn’t replace the warmth from her husband’s strong embrace, or the comfort of his loving care for her. She was devastated.

This horrible war only brought misery. Gene knew he had to contribute whatever he could to end it. He was no longer a pawn, a threat to national security. Freed of the restrictions imposed by his father’s position, he planned to enlist and apply for combat duty as a medic. He wanted to help save the men who suffered battle casualties, knowing that every one saved would represent one less widow crying herself to sleep over her dire loss, like his mom did lately.

He told his mother of his plans, without referring to combat duty because of her anguish. She gave him her blessing, proud that her sons were willing to bear the burden imposed on the nation to send men off to war. Joe already was an officer, working at a stateside naval hospital, serving his internship, free from exposure to frontline danger. He was still using the assumed name, so Gene couldn’t arrange to visit with him before he did what he knew he had to do.

 

Chapter Four.

 

Still carrying security clearance, he went back to Los Alamos and talked with the friend that first urged him to become a medic. The man wished him well, warning him again of the brutality of war. Before leaving Los Alamos, the friend arranged an appointment for Gene with the post’s chief security officer. Gene sought some confirmation that his plans would not be thwarted in any way by security.

The security officer appreciated his concerns. Gene had been debriefed when he and mom left Los Alamos for Omaha, and he knew all his movements were still monitored by security. The post security commander assured him that he could make arrangements for an assignment to a medical unit. It would take a week for clearance, but was told the war could wait. Gene revisited the post infirmary daily to chat with other acquaintances that he made while he anxiously awaited the reply to his request to serve at the front.

He got word within the week. He was told to report to a Marine recruiting station in San Diego within three days. He was immediately inducted there and reported to boot camp where he completed basic training with little difficulty. The top kick was aware of his infirmities, but ignored them just as his friend predicted. Medics were still in short supply. Getting someone who was gung-ho and a real practical nurse and wanted to serve as a medic, well, that was fortunate, indeed.

After boarding a troop transport, he was assigned to advanced training for covert operations while the ship prepared for the trip across the Pacific. A ship’s doctor examined Gene and asked him for more information about the bad accident that resulted in the loss of his testicles and caused his peculiar gait. In particular, he repeatedly asked how Gene was able to maintain his male sexual characteristics without medical intervention. Gene confided that his father always prepared and regularly administered shots to him ever since his accident. He claimed the shots weren’t necessary any longer, as he hadn’t had one over three months, ever since the last batch that his dad made ran out, just before his dad passed away.

Investigation proved that no prescription for testosterone was recorded at any of the locations where his father worked. The doctors all thought Gene was lying or was mistaken. Further investigation revealed that Gene’s father concocted the testosterone shots from his own body fluids. A Geiger counter confirmed Gene still retained minute levels of radioactivity, which could have been attributed to being at Los Alamos, but not likely. Gene was aware that his dad prepared his monthly injections, but assumed that it was normal for a research chemist to try to match chemistries to avoid rejection issues. That was what his father told him.

His dad advised Gene of the need for the injections while he was still maturing but eventually, someday, they wouldn’t be needed. He also explained why the monthly shots he administered to Gene were safer. They were more resistant to rejection by his immune system than commercially produced formulas. Gene felt his father was the best chemist in the whole world. He trusted dad implicitly. His father’s intent was to protect Gene. "Family issues should stay within the family if possible." Dad always told him. It was easy to trace the prescriptions prepared by pharmacists and all doctors had to maintain detailed records as to why certain medications were prescribed. Gene’s dad didn’t want too many people to know of Gene’s need for testosterone injections. It could expose Gene to the enemy.

"Young man, your dad used his own blood to provide you with the testosterone your body needed. If we prescribe a commercially prepared product, it may take a few months before we regulate a proper dose. You could easily experience a bad reaction to a wrong dosage and be a liability at the front instead a godsend.

Not only that, but you’d probably need shots weekly, instead of monthly. Without continuing regular injections, you can expect to lose some masculine traits."

 

"I lost my masculinity a long time ago when I fell from the truck. What’s left of it is frozen in a vial somewhere in Omaha. I haven’t had a shot that my dad prepared in over five months. If I need one, I’ll let you guys know. Besides, can anyone guarantee I’ll survive, once I’m assigned to a combat area? Let’s face it. I know what to expect in combat and I’m ready to accept the risks."

 

"Gene, you may know what awaits you, eventually. None of us lives forever. But, do you know what awaits you if you survive? The sway in your hips isn’t caused only by your injury. You may not have noticed, but your body is already reacting to not getting the male hormones. You are starting to look feminine. We can’t predict how soon you will not be able to bunk along with the other men. You’ll get too much attention. Whether you intended it or not, we’re faced us with a serious problem. You can’t bunk with other troops, male or female. Understand, we aren’t questioning your morality or personality; we simply won’t do anything to initiate a scandal. The only wise thing to do is process your discharge. "

"Look, I’ve been prevented from doing my part in this war for well over two years. Please, don’t stop me now. I’ll get to the front if I have to swim there. If I need the testosterone, make out a prescription for me. I’m a practical nurse. I know how to treat battle casualties. I’ve given more shots than I can count. Trust me. I can monitor myself for reactions, and report them for dosage refinement. Don’t let a snag like this keep me from doing what I know in my heart is right."

 

"Okay, okay. I’ll get back to you. I appreciate your candor. Report to your unit."

 

When he went topside, Gene realized the ship had left the busy seaport and was under way. Standing at the railing he mused and muttered to himself. "Let them try to stop me now. They’ll have to throw me overboard." A sudden mild twinge in his chest reminded him that he too had noticed the changes that started taking place a few months before. The doctors only served to confirm his condition. He hoped to see action before deception was no longer possible.

What difference did it make? Breasts or no breasts, fathers and mothers should be proud of their sons. That’s all that mattered. Joe was too valuable to sacrifice in front-line duty. Joe was a chemist now, like dad. It was up to Gene to preserve the family’s honor. If for no other reason, he knew his dad would want him to follow in his footsteps and serve the nation with valor; if not as a fellow research chemist, than at least as a patriotic soldier.

 

"Report to the captain on the bridge, seaman Frestin, on the double." The petty officer’s loud voice shocked him out of his reverie. Why does everything have to be done ‘on the double’, he wondered? What would the captain want of him?

He had to ask how to wind his way through the complicated superstructure twice before he managed to find the bridge. Up until then his freedom was restricted to the main deck and those below it. He sensed a blowout was about to take place.

He reported to the duty officer on the bridge. "Sir, lance corporal Eugene Frestin reporting as ordered, sir!"

"The captain’s in his office, Frestin." Gene’s knees knocked together along with his knuckles on the captain’s door. He didn’t have to wait for long.

"Come in." Gene closed the door and stood at attention, repeating the proper military response to a direct command, while the captain went about reviewing some paperwork on his desk. He touched a button on an intercom and made some directive to whoever was on the other end of the line.

Finally, he looked up at Gene, and gestured with his hand toward a chair. "Have a seat, Frestin. I’ve been meaning to make your acquaintance sooner, but I was preoccupied with getting under weigh. You seem to draw a lot of attention.

I reviewed your dossier, forwarded to me directly from a security commander at some obscure Army base called Los Alamos. You have higher security clearance than I do. I don’t know why you rated it, and I don’t particularly want to know why. Seems you have a private war of your own to fight and I’m not to interfere with it. From what the ship’s doctor just told me I have an idea I shouldn’t want to get too involved. That’s exactly what I will do for the present. I don’t ever want to know what you are doing or why. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir, it’s perfectly clear, but there’s no reason for mystery. May I explain, sir? I requested an assignment to front line duty as a medic, sir. All I want to do is… "

"Save it, sailor. There’s a unit of Navy Waves on board ship en route to an island hospital in the rear area. Its location will be disclosed to you as you disembark. I don’t know why, and I don’t care to know why; but you are being reassigned to it. While you are aboard my ship, you will restrict your movements and activities to the same areas as the Waves. Your navy records have been properly amended and you have been promoted to ensign JG. Since you are going to be an officer, I expect you to behave appropriately. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!" Gene suspected why he had to be transferred at this time, but wasn’t aware that others were carefully assessing the changes that were taking place in his body. For some reason, they wanted him to proceed to the forward area, but not to see front line duty. He would have to change all that.

"I’ve seen stranger things, but you’re the first gyrene that was ever transferred to the Waves, that I ever heard of. Take this military code of conduct handbook and memorize it. More is expected of officers than of enlisted personnel. Good day."

"Thank you, sir, and good day to you." Gene saluted, turned on his heel to hit the door as soon as his salute was returned.

"One more thing, ensign."

"Yes sir?"

"Pay a dollar to the first enlisted man on my ship that salutes you, once you have changed your uniform. It’s a tradition. New uniforms and orders await you in your cabin. The duty officer will have someone escort you and introduce you to your bunkma… I mean, to your training coordinator. The best of luck. You’ll need it."

"One dollar, yes sir, I’ll do that. Thank you, sir."

A yeoman was waiting outside the captain’s office. "Follow me, please."

The sailor said no more, and never looked back at Gene as he led him through the twisted maze of gangways. When they arrived at an inner cabin, he opened the door for Gene and handed the key to him without a word. The man never made eye contact with him. Gene was sure the guy was following strict orders.

The first thing about the cabin that occurred to Gene as unusual was the smell. The room had a pleasant scent. Aboard a ship, that was something. He didn’t need to worry about what was next, as the door burst open, and in walked a tall blonde with skinny legs. "Hi, you must be Jean." Her outstretched hand pumped Gene’s like a truck driver’s. "I’m Ellen, but you can call me ‘Ellie’."

 

"Hi. What’s this all about? Why have they transferred me?"

"Take off your blouse, sailor and ask me again."

"Oh. You know about my problem. I can’t help it, but I won’t let it stop me."

"Problem? Is that what you think those bumps are? You had better start thinking of them as a solution to your problem. Otherwise, you’ll look damn silly in your new uniform, sister. You’re going to be a Navy Nurse, like me. I’ve face the same problem. Like you, I was born a male. I’m here to help you make your transition into womanhood so you can be of use to the navy.

I lost my gonads when a guy in front of me stepped on a mine. He died. A medic came forward and applied a tourniquet. It saved my life.

We met with more enemy gunfire later that cost the medic his life. The least that I could do to honor the guy is to take his place tending to other wounded men."

"If you have a severe injury in action, don’t you normally get relieved from duty?"

"Sure. What am I supposed to do? Take up knitting? I’m a career marine. I was trained to serve and protect my country in time of war. Think a little mine can stop me? Why are you here? For the same reason, you want to see action, right?"

"My father held an important government job. I had a deferment until he passed away recently, and got turned away at every branch’s recruiting office because of my childhood injuries. Funny, I suppose the recruiting sergeants thought I didn’t have the balls to face the enemy. I don’t have them, it’s true, but it takes bravery, nerve, not testicles. I want to prove that I’m not afraid! I have my family’s honor to consider and had to beg to be allowed to serve at the front. Nothing will stop me."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look. I was told we’d be assigned to do some special covert duty, something that takes both nerve and feminine attributes. You’ll have plenty of chances to prove your sincerity about your family honor and all that when we get ‘out there’. That’s all I was told for now but I know it’s too dangerous to send in genetic women. Since I couldn’t change what happened to me, I wanted to use what happened the best way that I could with what was left. So, I volunteered to pose a woman for this mission. You’ll have to, as well.

I lost my manhood, not my pride. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life grieving over it, so I chose sexual reassignment over spending the balance of my life as a eunuch. At least now, I can take what I was once able to give. It depends on how you look at things. You’ll be surprised. Once testosterone stops flowing through your system for a year or two, you think differently about men."

"Like how?

"Oh, what it’s like to be kissed by a man, or have one hold doors open for you, or hold your chair for you when sitting down to eat. It’s a nice feeling. Gives you a rush, inside. I even have some dreams on occasion about taking a man inside of me, you know, sleeping with a man. I wonder what it feels like?"

"I don’t have to worry about that. I’m not properly equipped"

"Look, Jean. By the way, your name is spelled J-e-a-n, on all of your records. I’m supposed to help you get used to what is happening inside of you. If you resist what’s bound to eventually emerge, it will only make it harder for you. In due time you’re going to sprout, top and bottom. When you do, you’ll have to accept it and use the proper undergarments to keep things under control.

You might as well get used to the idea and start wearing bras right away. I’ll help you learn how to dress as much as I can. It can be fun, if you’re willing to face the challenge. When I first found out that doctors on the Hospital ship had to remove my ‘three piece set’ I took it very hard. I wanted to die along with my manhood. Once the worst of the pain subsided, I considered myself a circus freak and then succumbed to the depression that slowly deepened.

I got weaker and my recovery became questionable. When I tried to find out what happened to the medic that saved me I found out he died trying to save my sorry ass. I was intent on telling the medic that he shouldn’t have bothered saving any more guys with my kind of injuries. I thought I would have been better off dead. Hearing that he was dead was a rude awakening. It’s one thing to fall in the line of duty as a soldier. It’s quite different to know that someone else died while he was saving you, because of you. I owe that dead gyrene more than my life."

"It’s not the same for me. Nobody died saving my neck. All I wanted to do was to see action. I can look and act as a normal male, if I continue to get testosterone shots. If I can be a Marine medic on the front, it’ll suit me fine. The Corps needs medics in a bad way, I’m told. Why do they want me to serve as a Navy Wave?"

"I hate to be the bearer of sad tidings, my friend, but you don’t look like much of a Marine to me. I think you’d be more of a liability on the front. The guys will be too distracted with you there to keep their heads on what’s most important: survival.

The Navy has something up its sleeve that must be more important. I understand that you are a practical nurse, too."

"Yeah. I got my PN while I was living with my parents on a base where my dad was stationed. Because of my dad’s job, I was exempt from military service. Do you suppose the Navy had something to do with that? It can’t be. I was on an Army post. My dad did say there’d come a day when I wouldn’t need to continue testosterone shots. Could he have known that it would come to this? I doubt it."

"I think he did know something about it, Jean. I reviewed your 201 file. It includes the schools you attended, jobs you held, and a complete history of your accident. The Navy isn’t interested in all that if all they need you for is to do nursing. We will have a special assignment; one that needs our particular perspectives."

Ellie and Jean talked the afternoon away and decided that the Navy knew best how to utilize their talents. If the Navy ordered them to be "ladies of the evening" they’d have to do it, simple as that. They didn’t know how close to the truth that amusing wisp of attempted humor was.

 

"Hey. If you want to eat, you’d better get into the shower and get ready to face the world, ensign JG Jean Frestin. While you’re there, you’d better shave, too."

"No need. I stopped growing a beard weeks ago."

"Your legs, not your chin. Your new uniform calls for bare legs. You might get away with not shaving the hair off the rest of your body, but your lower legs need to be smooth, up to the knees, at the least.

Assume you will have to learn how to pose as a girl for the rest of the voyage. We’ll find out what else is in store once we get off this old tub. If we do a lousy job of impersonating Navy nurses, I think they’ll scrub the mission, whatever it is."

"I never thought of that. What will they do to us if we fail before we even find out what this is all about, I wonder?"

"If we do our best, we won’t have to worry. There are forty other nurses on board this ship. We’ll have to do well enough not to slip up in front of them. If they get suspicious that we’re males, the news will spread like wildfire and we’ll be on the carpet. I’ll make sure you can pass muster for now, but unless you get rolling, we’re going to starve. Take a shower and shave your legs. Let’s get cracking."

 

During the remainder of the three-week Pacific crossing, Ellie taught Jean all she knew about being an apparent woman. As Jean, he met with a naval officer that explained some of the details of the mission that was planned. The navy would never intentionally change a serviceman’s sex for the success of a mission, but Jean’s and Ellie’s conditions didn’t need altering, just some minor modifications to ensure their manhood would not be detected easily.

A navy doctor surgically hid Jean’s manhood to look genuinely female, assuring Jean the process would be reversed at the earliest opportunity. Confined to "her" quarters for the next three weeks, Jean recuperated and was able to move about on the rolling decks, though walking with her penis tucked away up inside of her body was a strange new experience to her. It took another two weeks for her gait to return to normal and she could walk around with confidence.

As the ship progressed, zigzagging its way, a growing number of alarms calling all men to their duty stations alerted them to their increasing exposure to danger. Fortunately, they didn’t encounter enemy submarines or surface vessels. Enemy planes that strafed the ship were sufficient cause for concern about the exposure of a lone ship crossing the ocean. The nurses handled the casualties in rotating shifts. Jean and Ellie took their turns, as well. Jean got her first taste of war, the hard way, helping the ship’s doctor remove bullets and suture the men’s wounds.

When they reported for duty assignment on shore, Ellie and Jean were finally told the reason for the need to impersonate Navy nurses. Their assignments were to entail a very hazardous assignment. The Navy was highly reluctant to send real female nurses in the event the enemy would overtake them on the mission. They were going to be attached to men in troop rotation at traffic monitoring outposts.

Small detachments of volunteer coast watchers were stretched thin over a vast area: thousands of square miles of ocean, on tiny islands infested with pockets of abandoned enemy soldiers, rag-tag remnants of prior battles. Searching for our guerilla fighters to administer first aid might tip off the positions to the enemy.

Volunteers dressed as Navy nurses with bold Red Cross emblems on equipment and uniforms signified they were non-combatants. Other teams scoured the area’s islands regularly, accompanied by a squad of Marine troops with obvious maneuvers that were meant to show defensive tactics only were being employed.

Loudspeakers would intentionally hail enemy soldiers and invite them to accept medical treatment without fear of reprisal. Of course, these fierce enemy soldiers never accepted any medical aid offered, but they became less leery, seeing the nurses come and go after repeated landings. The intention was to lull the enemy into not recognizing troops guarding coast watchers were regularly rotated with fresh replacements in the process. Our soldiers at these outposts were more vigilant in their efforts if they knew they’d be cycled out as regularly as possible.

Coast watching is a lonely, yet dangerous duty. Complacency led to many men being picked off by snipers when their guard was down. Nothing worked better to keep Gyrenes on their toes than knowing a pretty nurse could land on their lonely island to rekindle their spirits and re-supply their stores and take them to safety.

Navy nurses were officers, so the servicemen weren’t likely to affront them with improper manners. The resulting court marshal would disgrace a unit and carry a stiff prison sentence as well. The men could dream, but the likelihood of a nurse being accosted by a serviceman was minimal. The danger lied in the enemy’s lack of respect for women who dared to assume an active role in the war. Still it was believed the enemy was less likely to kill a member of the fairer sex, if the woman bore the insignia of the Red Cross. Of course, the Navy wouldn’t permit the symbol to be used unless the person was indeed a medic or nurse.

Volunteers for outposts infested with enemy snipers were rare. To safeguard the coast watchers and replenish them was an arduous task, with or without a sniper locking a Red Cross into his sights. Japan didn’t sign the Geneva Accord and wasn’t bound by its tenets. Only reciprocity at a post-war military tribunal would deter them from their outright butchery. Their reputations preceded them.

Jean and Ellie received further covert activity training after they arrived a Pearl. They were put into private housing like the other Waves, and reported daily for duty at the base hospital, but were then shuttled off to learn what was expected of them when the mission was deployed. They were sure of one thing. The plan was well designed. It was up to them to see that it would be well executed. With trepidation, they steeled themselves for the unexpected, to avoid a slip-up.

 

 

Chapter Five.

 

The sound of the waves hitting beach in front of them was the only clue to advise the small squad of three rubber inflatable boats as to the distance between them and the shore. The moonless cloud-covered night made clear vision impossible. One man carried a night scope, which could only be used for brief glimpses or be detected. The last thing they wanted to do was alert the enemy of their landing. The group reconnoitered the area surrounding the beach and declared it safe for a landing by a larger team including the nurses in the morning at daybreak.

A blatant landing in broad daylight followed. Loudspeakers blaring, entreating the enemy to enter the hastily set up camp for medical care went unheeded. Security perimeter established; the team ventured further into the thick jungle, aware of watchful eyes that marked their movements. Ellie and Jean wore boots with their nurse’s white dresses without white stockings, supporting the intended image of noncombatants, but with cautions against trip wires, spikes and booby-traps.

As soon as they heard the crisp cracks of gunfire, they hit the dirt to reduce the size of target they offered an enemy. The enemy detected the initial landing in the dark of night and already had captured them. They laid quietly in wait for the unsuspecting medics, intent on slaughtering anyone in uniform that didn’t bear the insignia of the Red Cross. The detachment surrendered, trying to convince the enemy commander that they were there to help, not harm.

Ellie and Jean were taken to an officer. The enemy intentionally delayed their attack on the island’s radio transmission outpost, knowing that no traffic worth reporting was due to cross their team’s field of vision for nearly a week. If they neutralized them too soon, the Navy would counterattack with force to eject them and set up another outpost up in haste. Their mission was to destroy the radio transmitter the day before their next task force was to pass, so any replacements would arrive too late to relay the enemy armada’s movements.

 

The enemy commander planned to have some of his men wear the uniforms of U.S. marines who were captured the night before. By the time the disguised soldiers were recognized as enemy troops, it would be too late for the coast watchers to evade them and escape to safety.

The ambush on the beach was so swift the lone radio operator was unable to get off a warning message before he surrendered his life. The two nurses were led to the tent of the commander and immediately told that the Geneva Convention would not save them and they could be treated as enemy spies. The man smiled.

"What fools you yanks are. Posing as Navy nurses to trick our glorious men into showing you our strength. Don’t you know one Nippon soldier is worth an entire brigade of your amateur commandos? You yanks have no stomach for a worthy cause and you follow immature tactics devised by bank officers and accounting clerks, not those of brilliant tacticians. Stand at attention when I speak, with your bodies bent over to the waist as a sign of your insignificance. How weak your navy is. They dare to use women like cattle to be slaughtered by us."

"We are navy nurses. We were sent to police the island for any wounded soldiers of prior combat, regardless of which side they are on. Our Red Cross emblems clearly show that we are noncombatants. We demand that you ---"

"Silence! You demand? Do you think you are speaking to your sissy general who runs from the advance of the Rising Sun?" The man struck Jean on the face with the handle of the small frond he used to brush away flies. "Your kind has but one purpose. Perhaps my lonely men who aren’t too particular will find your pale pink skin amusing. Your race looks like boiled pork, unfit for anything but to placate the desires of men of low esteem, who choose to mingle with mongrels.

Sergeant Nugami! Take these two porky nymphs into the jungle. Have your men set up tents for them. Then, have the men draw lots to humiliate these two pigs. When the men have finished interrogating them, return them to me. I may have further need of them, once their arrogant Western egos have been crushed."

"Captain. My assistant is frail. She was deformed from a mishap in her childhood that makes it impossible. Have your sergeant take me and let your men question me, if you will, but please spare her. I’ll go along willingly if you do, and I promise to please those of your men that see me."

"Take her, Nugami. I will inspect this one myself to see if the lying cur spoke the truth for once in her life. If she lied, I will personally cut this one’s body open with my sword before I take off her head."

When Ellie was taken in tow by the sergeant, the officer told Jean to strip naked. As he promised, he inspected Jean’s healed sutures and told her to dress. "Your wound is recent. You intentionally avoided being able to entertain men, so be it.

 

There are other ways for you to show humility. I prefer not to create mongrels. You will not get any food or drink until you beg me. I suggest that you cooperate, or I will use other means to deflate your misdirected pride. In the process, I will not be gentle, so take note of the few choices you have. In the end, if you have pleased me adequately, I will end your life swiftly after I have completed my mission. You can die bravely and join your ancestors knowing that you served your country as honorably as a woman can, serving soldiers, beginning with me. That’s why you came here, was it not? Choose now." The man threatened to hit her again with his baton.

"I can’t. I don’t know how. Besides, I’d willingly die before giving you satisfaction.

Torture me to death if it pleases you. In the end I’ll be just as dead."

"No, my dear, you will do as I command. Trust me. Every hour that you resist, I will have my men take one of the brave soldiers who arrived with you, that we have captured and kill them in front of you, after I explain to them why they must die. We don’t need them. Their deaths will be slow and agonizing, I assure you. Why should I torture your soft flesh? I do not wish you to suffer any pain. You will relent. You don’t want the marines that landed here with you to suffer either, so swallow your pride and appease me and they will be killed swiftly when their time comes, once we have completed our mission."

"And what is your mission? If you expect me to do your bidding, at least tell me why you came here. What is so important here that brings a Captain and a whole platoon of soldiers of the Empire to this god-forsaken place? If we fail to send out reports of our findings to our home base, they will send sufficient troops to rescue us and they will kill you and all of your men in the process. Whether we die or not in the process is immaterial. Your mission here has no chance of success."

"How brave! Do you think we don’t know why you came here? We have been monitoring the radio transmissions from this island’s outpost for months. We recorded a pattern of their transmissions and we can duplicate it after we deal with the coast watchers at the appropriate time. Until then, we will let the fools continue their meaningless radio transmissions to cover our presence here.

They expect you. You bring relief replacements to the men here now, but they don’t know how soon to expect you. We will use the same tactic as we did this morning and kill them all in a surprise attack when the time is right.

My men will approach their remote outpost wearing your own country’s uniforms, including the white dress you conveniently took off at my request. By the time they realize we are not their fellow marines, or medics it will be too late for them.

They won’t have a chance to send out any messages because we will block their radio frequencies with static interference. See, I know your purpose here. You did not come to offer aid to Japanese soldiers. You came to relieve the men that protect the coast watchers. We Japanese use guerilla tactics you yanks haven’t the brains to conceive. Did you think you could deceive our leaders?"

"What do you hope to achieve by that? Your main forces are far away from here. They can’t send you more troops. As soon as the static is heard from your local ‘jamming’, relay stations will alert our command post to send out more marines to attack you here with sufficient force to wipe you out. You and your men will all be killed, to no avail. "

 

"Sacrifices for the emperor must be made. We are of no consequence. Do you think I would despoil my honor by engaging in a dalliance with you unless I knew that I have little chance of returning to my homeland and that we are all sure to die here before the week is out?

Don’t look so coy. Telling you that our mission will be over by the end of the week is of no consequence. There is nothing you can do to prevent its success. The die has been cast. We all shall soon perish on this insignificant mole of an island.

Neither you, nor I have long to live. Take my advice. Enjoy what time you have left. I shall be gentle with you. Accept me into your frail arms and console me. Then kiss me to discover the happiness one can achieve in pleasing a man." I didn’t see the knife enter him from behind.

The man’s head recoiled from the bayonet that severed his spine. Blood poured from his mouth as his hands grasped his throat. The marine who was standing in the doorway behind him wiped the bloody blade on the Officer’s corpse, then took up the dress from the floor with the tip of his cleaned bayonet and flipped it at me from where he stood. "Put it back on, girl." His face was filled with disgust. "It’s a good thing we got here when we did. You would have had to do whatever this swine wanted in another minute. I don’t know why the Navy sends girls out on such dangerous missions. You belong back in the States making bandages. "

"I know why. We volunteered for hazardous duty. I admit that the situation held more danger than I thought it would. It was a mighty close call. Where did you come from? This pig would have killed me, for sure, if you hadn’t showed up in the nick of time." Jean swiftly put her uniform back over her undies.

"We arrived here from the opposite side of the island. Two full companies landed there late last night while the diversionary force on this side drew the enemy’s attention. Those poor guys didn’t have a chance. The operation plan assumed you would be captured if the enemy were here to overtake this radio outpost. If we were wrong, we’d be able to get back in the landing crafts and head for the diversionary force that was being attacked on another island."

 

After the area was secure, a Philippine navy covert counter intelligence operator sent phony radio transmissions in Japanese code to convince the enemy high command the island was under their control to transmit false reports to our naval intelligence at the appropriate time to cover the movements of their armada.

Ellie and Gene were no longer needed as a cover for the tactical force and were dispatched to Pearl, their home base, too tired to do anything but sleep. Jean was ecstatic when she learned that Ellie wasn’t harmed after she was whisked away into the jungle to be used as chattel by the lusty enemy soldiers.

On the way back, when Jean asked Ellie what had happened to her while Jean was busy with the enemy commander, all she did was smile at her and wink. Jean found out later that Ellie was hogtied to a tree while the soldiers hastily put up party tents. They were too preoccupied with their good fortune. They failed to post sentries. The company of marines was able to swiftly and silently surround and dismiss them to their ancestors, taking as many prisoners as was possible without alerting the Jap contingent’s commander who was busy talking to Jean.

 

The base security director filled Ellie and Jean in on the success of their mission. The Navy knew the enemy monitored radio transmissions from coast-watching outposts and set a trap to lure them to capture one. Other coast watchers up the line had alerted the Navy an enemy task force forming, but not the strength and direction that it was headed. Our navy didn’t have a sufficient number of warships to cover all possible routes. The enemy’s taking this island confirmed the route. Letting the enemy believe that it was under their control enabled our forces to ambush the unsuspecting enemy fleet, a crucial advantage when outnumbered.

"This station sent out frequent transmissions to enable the enemy to track them, luring their attack against the coast watchers here. We knew you and Ellie would be excellent decoys, Jean. If we sent real women, and it went sour, we’d have hell to pay for intentionally sending them off to predictable capture. We also needed to use trained medics or the ruse could fail. You convinced the enemy that you were the genuine articles, or they’d have suspected a trap was being set and alert their superiors, negating the extensive efforts made so far.

The plan worked, thanks to you and Ellie. Now, if you care to, we can reassign the two of you stateside or back to the hospital at Pearl, until we have need of your special talents again. We owe the two you a lot, but we can’t hand out any medals to you for your roles in this action, leastwise not until the war is over. It took a lot of guts to do what you two did, more than most men have. If that Jap discovered you two weren’t women, there’s no telling what he’d do. Fortunately the plan went fairly smoothly. You didn’t buckle under the strain of knowing you could be killed at any moment. Keeping your cool saved your lives."

Later, Jean learned of the importance of her miniscule part in what was later to be called the Mariana’s’ turkey shoot. The Navy caught a superior Japanese fleet flatfooted and sent many enemy warships to the bottom of the sea with far fewer casualties incurred by our naval forces than if we had to scurry to dispatch ships to a location of the enemy’s choosing, where the enemy was sure to set up a network of defensive obstacles to thwart our hasty response. Still, Jean felt sad because some brave American men that died in the process.

She also learned that troop commanders who had to devise battle plans had the toughest job of all. They had to send men out, knowing many would never return.

 

End of Part One

 

 

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© 2001 by Virginia Kane. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.