Janice and Mel: The War Years
1942: Traitors in Our Midst - Chapters 9 -10
by L. Fox

Continued from Chapter 8

Chapter 9
When most people think of the Panama Canal they usually form an image of one continuous gash running across the Isthmus of Panama. Indeed the Canal is often referred to as the "Big Ditch." However only the Gaillard Cut, an approximately eight mile long channel, can be called a proper canal. The remainder of the fifty-one mile long canal is made up of two lakes: the huge Gatun Lake extending over about two thirds of the Isthmus, and the much smaller Miraflores Lake on the Pacific side of the canal. Gatun Lake was formed by the construction of a dam across the Chagres River adjacent to the Gatun Locks. At the time the canal was built Gatun Lake was the largest man made lake in the world. An oddity of the canal is, because it runs from northwest to southeast, the sun sets on the Pacific entrance to the canal before it does on the Atlantic side.

The canal was opened in 1914 and by using it instead of sailing around Cape Horn a ship traveling from New York to San Francisco saves almost eight thousand miles. Four and a half million cubic yards of concrete went into the construction of the canal's dams and three sets of locks. Although the largest of these lock gates are seven feet thick and weigh some 730 tons, they are so delicately balanced a twenty-five horsepower motor can swing them.

Ever since the canal was opened a major concern for the Americans has been the Gatun Dam. This huge earthen dam is made up of two wings and is nearly a half mile wide at the base but tapers to a width of one hundred feet at its crest, rising about twenty feet above the normal level of Gatun Lake. If this dam was somehow destroyed the huge Gatun Lake would drain rendering the canal unusable. Even if the dam could be rebuilt it would take many years for the lake to refill from the surrounding watersheds.

All this was not lost on Heinrich Strolin. Since even before Germany declared war on the United States he had given considerable thought to the destruction of the dam and how best to accomplish this. The reason for his fixation on this idea was twofold. First it would place quite an added burden not only on Allied shipping but the United States Navy as well. As the majority of the Navy's dry docks and shipyards were located on the East coast, the neutralization of the Panama Canal would mean a much longer turnaround for those ships damaged in combat in the Pacific that had to return to the navy yards in Brooklyn and Philadelphia for repairs. Strolin had correctly forecast that the port facilities at the great naval base at Pearl Harbor would not be able to handle the large number of American ships that would suffer damage in the bitter fight with Japan. While none of this would benefit Germany directly it would nonetheless be of great strategic value to her Axis partner and might even make Nippon more amenable to any German claims in the Pacific after the successful conclusion of the war

The second and, as far as Strolin was concerned, more important reason was that it would finally call the attention of those in Berlin to the abilities of one Heinrich Strolin. Since being ordered to Central America in the spring of 1938 he had brooded over how to extricate himself from what he considered to be a dead end assignment. He felt the great events of the day were passing him by and he chafed at knowing he was not part of them. His subversive colleagues had been instrumental in the Anschluss of Austria. They had also helped to topple Czechoslovakia in early 1939 and had played a key role in the fall of Norway in 1940. In the meantime his biggest sacrifice for the Fatherland had been being bitten by a tarantula while inspecting bananas. For a man as ambitious as Strolin it was like being slowly suffocated.

The only way out as he saw it was to do something. Something spectacular. Something that would make those pencil pushers in Berlin sit up and take notice of a bright, aggressive, and extremely opportunistic young man. That something would be the destruction of the Panama Canal. By late 1941 he had already hit upon a plan. Two planes, packed with high explosives and diesel fuel, and piloted by either volunteers or prisoners would time their flight to appear over the Gatun Dam just after dawn and then ram into the spillway of the great dam. As to whether it would work or not he had spoken to several engineers and had come away with differing opinions. Some said yes, it would work and others said no. To Strolin it did not really matter. What would matter would be whether he could pull the actual attack off. If after that the canal happened to survive it would be most regrettable but either way his star would be brightened a hundred fold. What did he have to lose? All Germany would be out was a few thousand marks and a couple of expendable men. In any event he hoped he would be viewed as a doer and as someone worthy of a more prestigious post--maybe even the United States itself.

The last real problem he had to overcome, that of providing sufficient cover for his operation, had been solved upon his introduction to a certain John Price by another German agent. Because of his known affinity for National Socialism the esteemed Price had been at first carefully cultivated by a series of operatives and Nazi sympathizers. Upon meeting him Strolin found him to be a somewhat naive individual.

Price was a man dedicated to his work but also one concerned about state of affairs in the world. He had seen the turmoil and unrest spawned by the Great Depression and had come to the conclusion democracy was not capable of dealing with such potentially cataclysmic events. He now believed Nazi Germany was the model for all future governnments and that National Socialism was the only thing that would stem what he perceived to be the real threat to the world--Communism. To him democracy was like a tired old man that was bound to give way to the young and more virile successor that was dictatorship. As far as he was concerned if that meant the United States losing the war then so be it.

Strolin watched as the men loaded the last of the explosives on the plane. He had dreamed of this day for a very long time. He turned his eyes westward toward the sun now turning a deep orange and hanging low in the sky. Ever since the two Constellations had flown in that afternoon from Argentina he had fretted over the possibility of them being spotted, remote as that was. He need not have worried for he had chosen his site well. If any place could be said to be in the middle of nowhere, this was it.

"So, Price," he said, turning to his co-conspirator, "soon we will stand the world on its ear."

Price checked his watch and said, "I think I will return to the site now."

Fool! thought Strolin. Does he really think I am going to just let him walk away from here? By now his opinion on the usefulness of Price had soured greatly. He saw Price to be a fundamentally weak person who would not be able to withstand the pressure of the business he now found himself in. The Americans might be lazy and naive but they were not stupid. Sooner or later they would get around to suspecting Price and he would sing like a canary once caught. Strolin could not allow that to happen.

Well, he mused, what else could one expect from a man that makes his living scratching in the ground. Not that he had anything against archaeology, after all it was Price's profession that had made him so attractive in the first place. Who else in the area could lure that may people away from the banana plantations without arousing suspicion? However it did seem to be a mundane, even trivial occupation to an adventurer like Strolin.

All evening he had been pondering just what do about Price. Tonight will be as good a time as any, he thought. Then and there he resolved that by the time the planes reached the Canal, Price would no longer be a part of the equation.

"At the present time I cannot allow it," he told Price.

"What do you mean, you cannot allow it?" Price asked.

"Just what I said," retorted Strolin. "Until we know the results of the operation I think it would be wise for us not to separate."

"What's the matter, don't you trust me?" Price asked, only half joking.

"No," replied Strolin bluntly. "I trust no one."

"But that means we'll be here all night,'" Price protested. "And besides, you have no authority to keep me here."

Strolin shrugged his shoulders and said, "It cannot be helped. I'm afraid I must insist."

I don't like this, thought Price. To him the whole thing was starting to reek of a double cross. He looked at the ominous bulge in Strolin's jacket and thanked his stars he had shown the foresight to come prepared. Indeed the weight of the .25 automatic in his pocket felt very comforting.

**********

Twenty miles away Janice stood outside her tent watching the same deep orange ball descend in the western sky. Although the day had been a very eventful one there was still a lot she did not know, specifically how and more importantly when all that TNT would be put to use. Would they load it on a small ship and somehow try to crash into the dam? Had they somehow fashioned a home made bomb or some kind of mine? Was that what the airstrip was for? Janice had no clue. What she did know was the authorities in the Canal Zone had to be warned. But the only way she could do that was to call the number Donovan had given her and that meant a telephone and that meant a thirty mile trip in a vehicle she did not have. A trip she would likely not be able to make until tomorrow.

Goddamn it! she swore. It may be too late by then. Just where the hell was that truck anyway? A voice cut the stillness of the evening and shook Janice from her frustrating thoughts.

"Janice?" It was Mel.

"Hmmm?"

"What do we do now?"

"Just as soon as whoever has that damn truck brings it back you and I are gonna load up and haul ass out of here," Janice answered. "We have to warn those boys in Panama."

"But...shouldn't we try to find about more about what Price is up to?" Mel asked.

"We'll let Donovan worry about him now," said Janice. "Commando stuff is somebody else's department. We accomplished what we came here to do. Donovan said find out what Price is up to and we've done that."

"Golly, Jan," Mel persisted, "maybe we ought to try to stop 'em if we can."

Janice eyed her sharply. "We don't know for sure if anything is on for tonight. And even if we did just how the hell do you propose we get there, Mel?" she snapped. "It's twenty fuckin' miles to that airstrip and the only means of transportation we have are our own two feet. Are you up to a twenty mile hike? Hmm?"

Mel hung her head for just a moment and then looked up to Janice. In a voice as soft as the evening breeze playing through in her hair she said, "Gee, I am if you are, Janice."

Janice looked into the woman's face and saw the hint of anguish in those deep blue eyes. You idiot! she rebuked herself. You've hurt her. And for what? She was only trying to help. As she looked upon the gentle woman towering over her she could not help but feel Mel was bigger than her in more ways than one.

"Jeez, Mel, I'm sorry," she said, taking the woman's hand. "That was a dumb ass thing for me to say."

"Aww, Janice," said Mel, "I know yuh didn't mean anything by it."

"Well that still didn't give me the right to be such a smart ass." She smiled impishly and added the qualifier, "Well, not to you anyway."

It was moments like this that only served to make Janice admire Mel all the more. The woman seemed to have the patience of Job. She knew she could be difficult at times. She also recognized that in the give and take of their relationship it was she that did most of the taking and it was Mel that did most of the giving. Even now she marveled that this incredibly sweet, highly cultured, drop dead gorgeous person could find an ill tempered, foul mouthed, and yes, sometimes selfish woman like her attractive. Janice hoped to high heaven it would always remain so.

For her part had Melinda been privy to Janice's thoughts she would have been very amused. She did not see her lover that way at all. What she saw was an energetic, fiercely independent woman with a passion for life most people could only dream about. Yes she was sometimes cynical and a little coarse and yes, maybe some of her so-called "friends" back in South Carolina would be appalled by her but as far as she was concerned Janice Covington was the finest person she had ever known. She was not only intelligent, tough, and brave but she was also thoughtful, funny, and well...terrific in bed. And besides, she knew the real reason for Janice's irritability. The woman was tired and more than a little frustrated.

Melinda returned her smile and said, "Forget it. And anyway, you're right about warnin' Donovan. After all, who knows for sure when Price is gonna make his play?"

Mel's question was answered by a voice from behind. "I do. Tonight."

The two women spun on their heels to face the voice. "Carter!" exclaimed Janice.

"Don't look so surprised, Janice," said Carter.

"How long have you been standing there?" Janice demanded.

"Long enough. But I didn't come here to eavesdrop on you. I came to ask for your help. You see, I know why you are here."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Janice warily. "Like I said before we're just down here because we need the work."

"Oh come now. Let's cut the act okay?" Carter moved closer and murmured, "I'm here for the same reason you are."

"Huh?"

"I'm with the State Department, Janice. I'm assigned to the embassy here and when we got word Price was nosing around in the area I was assigned to try to find out why."

"I didn't know the State Department did intelligence work," said Janice, still not convinced.

Price leisurely inspected his fingernails. "Oh, you'd be surprised at some of the stuff we do," he said. "But that's not important now."

"You said you know when Price is going to act. How?"

"Let's just say I have my sources."

"That's not good enough," said Janice. She cocked her head and squinted at him through one eye. "And just how did you know about us?"

"We were informed by your own Mister Pierce," said Price. "It seems Donovan had second thoughts about sending you up against Price without any help."

"So they sent you." Janice had to admit this was certainly plausible. "Well what are we waiting for? Let's get out there pronto."

"I was hoping you would say that," grinned Carter.

Janice turned to her partner and smiled thinly. "Well, ya happy now?"

"Ask me tomorrow," Mel shot back.

"Carter, just give us a couple of minutes to get our things together and we'll be off," said Janice. "I got a feeling we won't be comin' back here any time soon."

"I'll bring the truck around while you're doing that," he told them.

Janice entered the tent and picked up her bag before nestling her hat down on her head.

"Ja-yun, what do you want me to do with this?" Mel asked, holding up her book.

Janice opened up her gas mask bag and replied, "Stick it in here." Mel did and before she closed the bag back Janice took out her box of .38 slugs and emptied them into her pocket. She checked to make sure her .38 was loaded and then returned it to the bag. Seeing Mel's apprehension, she said, "Listen to me, Mel. This might get rough so I want you to promise me that you'll do whatever I ask. No ifs, ands, or buts, okay?"

"Okay," Melinda promised, nodding her head.

"Good girl." Janice followed this up by taking out the remainder of their money and thrusting it into her partner's hand. "Take this." She took Mel by the arm and looked her straight in the eye. "Now listen closely. If I could be certain no harm would come to you here I'd leave you but I can't. Mel, if something was to, you know, happen to me tonight I want you to get the hell out of here any way you can and head straight for Golfito, you understand? You can book passage on a ship back to the States there."

"But Jan, I--"

"Hey!" barked Janice. "Remember what I said? No ifs, ands, or buts?"

"Yes, Jan," Mel replied meekly.

"This is no time to be fuckin' around," said Janice. "So just stay off the main road as much as you can and try to hire somebody to take you there."

"I will," Mel assured her. It was a lie and both of them knew it. Deep in her heart Janice knew Melinda would never leave her but it eased her conscience a little knowing she had at least tried. They looked into each others eyes and shared a visual embrace of love and warmth and undying devotion. All too soon their spell was broken by the sound of Carter pulling up in the truck.

Janice smiled warmly at the belle and playfully jabbed her on the arm. "Come on. Remember what Wild Bill said. It's time we earned our pay."

"Janice just promise me you won't do nothin' stupid, okay?" Mel blurted out.

"Who mee? Hey, Kid this ain't Gangbusters. I have no intention of playing hero."

By the time the three of them covered the twenty miles to the airstrip it was already dark. Upon reaching the site Carter pulled off the road and killed the engine. "Well, ladies," he said, " this is it."

Along the way he and Janice had discussed several different plans and finally settled on one they thought to be the most safe. "You know, Carter," she said, "if something goes wrong here this could get ugly."

Carter answered her by folding over the truck seat. Reaching in behind, he pulled out the latest model of the Thompson submachine gun--the one with the straight magazine instead of the older drum-style type. It was the one now in use by the American military. Just the sight of the moonlight reflecting off its stubby muzzle made Mel shudder.

"This ought to even things up some, don't you think?" Carter asked.

"All the same let's not try to go that route, huh?" suggested Janice.

Carter stepped out onto the road and stopped for a moment to listen. Nothing. "Okay, let's make sure we stay together," he said. "We don't want anybody gettin' lost."

Although he did not come right out and say it, Mel had the distinct impression he was referring to her. Slowly, very carefully, they picked their way over pretty much the same ground Janice had covered the day before. Carter was in the lead, followed by Melinda, and then Janice. Fortunately the moon was out and it made navigating the dense undergrowth considerably easier. For Mel the light striking the vegetation and the resulting shadows produced by it worked to give the place an almost surreal look. It was like something right out of one of those wolf man movies where the victim knows danger lurks about but is totally powerless to do anything about it. Right now she could think of a million places she would rather be. And yet the sense of danger--the thrill of the unknown excited her. She could feel something deep within her begin to awaken from its slumber and begin to stir. She now began to feel that total oneness with her environment she had only experienced one other time--on Borneo.

"Golly," she whispered. "Xena, is...is that you?"

There was no answer at first but Melinda Pappas felt a reassuring shroud of warmth and great strength descent upon her. Then, as distinct as if it were her own, she heard a voice say, "Don't be afraid. I am with you."

"Oh my God," Mel gasped softly.

"Shhh! Be quiet," Janice admonished her from behind.

It was just like before. How wondrous it was and how privileged she felt to be a part of a love that was now more than thirty centuries old, she thought. A love that would make a woman want to protect her lover from beyond the grave. It was almost too fantastic to believe and yet it was so very true.

Carter suddenly stopped in front of her and just like that Mel was brought back to reality. Except this time she sense of awareness and strength was still with her. She was not quite sure what she was supposed to do but she trusted that Xena would show her the way when the time came.

"See that?" whispered Carter, pointing to a white glow some distance away.

"Yeah," replied Janice, joining him. "Looks like somebody's puttin' in a little overtime."

Mel eased up to them and laid a hand on Janice's shoulder. "Is that it?"

"That's it," echoed Janice. Her lover's hand acted as a reminder of what was really at stake here. "Mel," she said, turning to her, "I think it would be best if you remained here while we go on ahead."

"Nuh uh. Nothin' doing, Janice. I'm going with ya'll."

"Damn it, don't be so stubborn," hissed Janice. As the two of them quietly bickered in the moonlight they were unaware of Carter discreetly backing away from them.

"Janice, I'm going," Mel declared resolutely.

"No you're not."

"I am."

"You're not."

"Am."

"Not."

The two of them stopped when they heard a sharp metallic click. They turned to the noise and found themselves staring down the .45 caliber bore of Carter's Tommy gun. "I'm afraid I must insist on Miss Pappas accompanying us," he purred.

"What the fuck is this, Carter?" Janice growled.

"Why I'm surprised at you, Janice. I thought you of all people would know a set up when they saw it," said Carter. He leveled the gun at her chest and said, "Put you arms behind your neck--you too, Pappas."

Janice grudgingly complied and Carter carefully slipped the bag off her shoulder. "I'll take this if you don't mind." As he removed it his hand brushed against Janice's breast.

"Is that the only way you can get a feel--at the point of a gun?" smirked Janice.

"Silence." Carter took the .38 out of the bag and stuck it in his pocket before tossing the bag carelessly to the ground. "I must say Price had you pegged from the beginning."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well when you two suddenly showed up on his doorstep he knew that your ah, what do you call it, sob story, was a lie. So he wisely decided to keep you around while we checked up on you and my my, what do you think we found?"

"I dunno what? That Leavenworth has very nice accommodations available for traitorous scum like you?"

"You hurt my feelings, Covington," replied Carter. "Actually one of your colleagues was able to tell us all about you."

"So that's why you cuddled up to me all week," said Janice.

"Of course," said Carter. "And then when we found out from your Mister Pierce who you were it was decided I should drop the hint about the other site and let you put two and two together."

"How did you know for sure I checked the site out?"

"Simple. I checked the milage on the odometer. It was forty-six miles more than it should have been," Carter replied smugly.

Pierce! I never did like that guy, thought Janice.

"If it will make you feel any better I am not a traitor," said Carter.

"So you're a fucking German saboteur then," snapped Janice.

"Agent," Carter corrected her.

"Yeah," snorted Janice, "spelled B-A-S-T..."

Carter lashed out and savagely backhanded her across the mouth. "Slut! he rasped. "I was going to ask Herr Strolin to make your deaths swift and merciful but now I think I will enjoy watching you beg for mercy."

Janice spit the blood from her mouth and snarled, "Not in a million fucking years."

"Oh I don't mean for yourself, of course." Carter pressed the muzzle of his weapon right between Mel's breasts. "I mean for your friend here."

Gun or no gun, something in Janice snapped. "You son of a bitch!" she cried as she launched herself at him.

Mel saw Carter's eyes shift to face the threat. At the precise moment he swung the Tommy gun away from her Mel heard the voice once more. NOW! Without thinking, Melinda pivoted sharply on the ball of her left foot and did a sweeping 360 degree spin catching Carter hard just above the temple with the heel of her right foot. Carter dropped like a sack of potatoes just as the onrushing Janice reached him. Her forward momentum carried her right over the top of him. Mel reached out and caught her surprised partner in her strong arms and pulled her to her chest.

"Golly, Jan, are you all right?"

Janice stared at her wide-eyed, still breathing hard from not only her effort but from the emotion of the moment as well. "Christ, Mel," she said breathlessly, "how did you do that?"

"Well I...I don't rightly know," came the reply.

Janice looked up at her quizzically for a moment and then smiled. "It was her again, wasn't it?"

Mel nodded stiffly and pulled the corners of her mouth up in that little smile of hers. "Yeah. I reckon it was."

Janice knelt down beside Carter and laid her ear to his chest.

"Is he...he dead?" Mel asked.

"No, but he's going to have one hell of a headache when he comes to," said Janice. She dug her hands under the man's shoulders. "Give me a hand here."

Mel helped her drag Carter to a nearby tree where they proceeded to place him facing the tree in a sitting position with his arms and legs extending out past the tree trunk. At Janice's behest Mel stripped Carter of his belt and handed it to her. The archaeologist took out her razor sharp knife and split the belt down the middle lengthwise. She then used the strips to bind Carter's hand and feet together. When she was finished she tore off a piece of his shirt and jammed it into his mouth.

"That ought to hold him," she declared. Having already relieved him of her .38 Janice now shouldered the Thompson. "Well, Kid," she said to Mel, "let's go see what those bastards are up to."

Melinda nodded and off they went toward the light still glowing steadily in the distance. They had not gone ten paces before Mel suddenly stopped. "Wait, Jan!" she whispered.

"What is it?" Janice asked her.

But Mel was already trotting back to where Carter was.

What is she doing? Janice wondered.

It took the belle a couple of anxious minutes searching the ground with the palms of her hands before but she finally found what she had come back for. Yes! she thought gleefully. She cradled the object in her arms and sprang to her feet.

"What the hell were ya doing back there, Mel?" demanded Janice upon her partner's return. "Taking a crap?"

"No, silly. I had to get this." It was the bag Carter had so carelessly discarded. "My book is in here." In the moonlight Melinda saw Janice flash her a big grin.

"Well sling it over your shoulder," said Janice. "You never know, I might need you to crack somebody else's head for me."

"Oh, Janice, stop it."

The two of them broke through the underbrush and melted into the tall grass of the field.
 
 

Chapter 10
Strolin slapped his cheek, crushing the huge mosquito that had been busily drilling there. Where is Meyer? he wondered, his irritation rising. He should have returned with those two nosy women by now. No wonder the Americans are losing the war, he thought smugly. They dare send mere women to oppose me! Already he had hit upon an appropriate way to eliminate them. Each would be put aboard one of the doomed planes thus creating a delicious irony. The two that had been sent to stop him would now be participants in it. In the soft light of the four lanterns placed about Strolin saw a figure approach.

"Sir, I wish to report the explosives have been secured and the detonation devices have been armed," the form said.

"Very good, Karl," said Strolin. "Now take your men and make sure the area is secure. Be careful though. Meyer is due to arrive her any minute with a couple of guests."

"Guests?" inquired Price. "You mean Covington and her friend?"

"Of course," replied Strolin.

"But why bring them here?" Price persisted. "Why didn't you have Carter--I mean, Meyer eliminate them and be done with it?"

"Because I want to see this Covington for myself. Pierce said she is quite a remarkable woman."

"You watch her, Strolin. She' a devil! hissed Price. "I mean an absolute devil."

"Hmm, sounds like a woman after my own heart," Strolin mused aloud.

Off in the shadows he saw Karl's men fanning out to begin their patrol. At the moment his two pilots were sequestered in Strolin's car under the watchful eye of a man named Schmidt. Everything was now set and all that was left was to wait until the appointed hour to begin. Before settling in the for wait in the folding chair he had brought with him Strolin had one last piece of business to take care of.

"Price, would you step over here please?" John Price arose from his seat on the crate and walked over to Strolin. "You brought your code book with you, did you not?"

"Of course," Price answered. "What do you think I am, an idiot.?" These goddamn arrogant Germans, he thought angrily. He dug his hand into his pocket and produced the same reddish orange book that had caused Mel so much consternation. "See?"

"Please give it to me," said Strolin.

"Why?"

"Because you have no further need for it."

In the light of the lantern Price saw the German's face was as devoid of emotion as a slab of marble. The stark realization now came to him. Strolin's remark could only mean one thing... "You double crossing bastard!" he screeched.

He flung the book into Strolin's face and jammed his hand into his pocket in a vain attempt to extract his gun. Strolin however, had the advantage of having his Luger in a shoulder holster under his jacket and was thus able to bring his weapon to bear first. "Strolin...what are you...doing?" Price sputtered, his eyes bulging in terror.

Strolin ignored his question and ordered, "Your arms...up!"

"But I, I can be of...of use...to you," pleaded Price. He then saw Strolin raise his weapon. "For the love of God!"

"There is no God," Strolin replied matter-of-factly. "There is only the Fuehrer."

Seeing his recent co-conspirator was beyond reasoning with Price dropped his hands in an attempt to flee but it was no use. Strolin fired, striking Price in the chest. The stricken man stumbled and fell, knocking over one of the lanterns in the process. Strolin bent down, picked up the code book and stuck in his pocket. He then leisurely strolled over to where Price lay.

"Sir, is everything all right?" a voice called out in German.

"Yes, Karl," replied Strolin. "And speak English." He knelt down beside the gasping Price. The man was feebly trying to speak but it was plain to Strolin his slug had pierced his lung for he was gurgling up blood with every breath. Heinrich Strolin thought himself a civilized individual. Having done his duty for the Fatherland he did not wish to see his vanquished enemy suffer unduly. So he simply pressed the barrel of his Luger against the side of Price's head--and blew the man's brains out. That done he got to his feet and holstered his Luger. Now, where the devil is Meyer? he wondered.
 
 

From their position across the field Janice and Melinda clearly heard the two cracks from Strolin's Luger. "Golly, Jan," Mel whispered, "what do you think's going on over there?"

"Well they're not playing spin the bottle," said Janice. Privately she hoped the shots meant there was one less guy to worry about. Fifteen minutes later the two of them found themselves at the edge of the field. From her kneeling position Janice parted the tall grass with her hands and peered across to the airstrip. There she saw the ominous silhouette of two large planes lined up as if ready to take off. She did not know yet what part these planes were to have in this whole affair but it was obvious they were the key. "Mel, I've got to have a look inside one of those planes."

"I'm with you," Mel answered.

Janice leaned closer to her partner and whispered in her ear, "All right. But if one of us so much as hiccups our goose is cooked, you understand?"

"Yes, Janice."

"Okay. Now, do exactly as I do."

The archaeologist dropped to the ground on her stomach and laid the Thompson across the crooks of her elbows. Slowly the two of them began to crawl side by side across the open ground. After covering about a third of the distance Janice felt Mel's fingernails dig into her arm.

"Jan," she whispered urgently, "someone is coming."

At first Janice thought her friend to be imagining things but soon enough she too became aware of the dark apparation approaching from off to their right. She reached out and pushed Mel's face against the ground. "Don't move," she ordered. She pressed her own cheek against the ground and faced the oncoming figure. Had they somehow given themselves away? she wondered. Probably not, she concluded. The palooka was just making a routine patrol sweep. Ever so carefully she clicked the Thompson's safety off. It the fucker comes much closer, she vowed grimly, it won't be routine any more.

While the two ladies held their breath the man walked to within fifteen feet of them. By now some cloud cover had fortuitously moved in to blot out the bright moon allowing the two of them to remained unobserved as the man moved past. This was something of a surprise to Melinda for she was positive her pounding heart was going to give them away. After the man had moved on Janice heaved a soft sigh of relief and tapped Mel on the arm. "Let's go."

Finally, after what Melinda believed to be the longest twenty minutes of her life, they made it to where the planes were parked. Here Janice paused to make absolutely certain no one was around before getting to her feet in a low crouch. "Stay here," she told Mel.

This time Mel offered no arguement. Janice worked her way forward to the lead plane which was well past the limits of the light from the lanterns. With her Thompson at the ready she ever so slowly popped the latch on the fuselage door. The resulting click was in truth not very loud but to Janice it seemed deafening. After taking one last look around, she quietly swung herself up in the plane. When she did she bumped into something hard. "Damn it!" she cursed, rubbing her knee. Carefully feeling around in the darkness, she ascertained the cargo hold was filled with long crates anchored down by straps. For Janice it could only be one thing. This was where all that TNT had gone.

And then she knew. The plane was going to be used as a guided bomb. She crept toward the front of the plane and almost tripped when her foot caught on something. Reaching down to investigate she discovered wire running along the length of the plane. After feeling it she knew well enough what it was--demolition wire. Good Lord, she thought, a chill running down her spine, this baby is rigged to blow right now!

Carefully backing away, she retraced her steps to the door. Silently she hopped back down to the ground and rejoined Melinda.

"Did ya find anything," the belle asked.

"Yeah, plenty," Janice answered. "Those planes are loaded with that TNT of yours. They're flying bombs, Mel and the bastards are going to try to crash 'em in the Canal somewhere."

"Probably the dam at Gatun," offered Mel.

Janice had no idea Mel knew anything about the Panama Canal but this little revelation was yet another example of the woman's depth.

"So what do we do?" Mel asked.

A damn good question, Janice had to admit. What do we do? The first thing was to get to cover. She tapped Mel on the arm and pointed to the line of trees about twenty-five yards away on the side of the airstrip opposite them. Mel nodded and the two of the crept toward them and were soon in the relative safety of the trees. No sooner had they gotten there when they saw another guard walk past they very spot they had so recently vacated.

Just how many of those guys are there? wondered Janice. She was well aware of the fact she was, in all probability, going have to kill someone tonight. As disturbing as this was for her it was not something she was going to shrink away from. Yes, she was scared but all she had to do was think of the gentle soul lying so close next to her that her breath could be felt. If something were to happen to her...

Janice decided it best not to think about that.

The archaeologist shook herself in an attempt to gather her nerves. All right, by God, enough of this screwing around. The longer we wait the greater the chance of our being discovered. It's time to do something, she told herself. Suddenly Janice got to her knees. She pulled the Thompson's bolt back and laid the deadly weapon down beside Melinda. "Take this," she said. "If anybody comes near you..."

"For God's sake, be careful, Jan."

Janice patted her on the arm and crept out of the woods and back to the plane. As of yet she was not really sure what she was going to do but she did have an inkling of a plan. Once inside she again made her way forward, this time going all the way to the cockpit. There the wires led her straight to what she hoped was there. Uh huh, she thought triumphantly. In the floor of the plane she found a box wired to a battery. She correctly guessed this to be a type of pressure switch that would open the contacts to the battery on the plane's impact hence detonating the explosives.

After taking a good look at the pilot's window Janice Covington knew what she had to do. She did not like it but she had no choice--not if she wanted to stop these people. With her heart pounding like never before she reached down and very, very carefully picked up the box/battery combination. "Well, Kid," she mumbled, under her breath, "that was the easy part. Now for the real fun."

Ten suspenseful minutes later, with her work done, she returned to the cockpit and slipped open the pilot's window. She then began to squeeze herself through. Before she made the ten foot leap to the ground she prayed she would land all right. The last thing she needed now was a sprained ankle. She need not have worried. For someone in the superb physical condition she was it was a piece of cake. Quickly she rejoined a much relieved Melinda. "Let's get the hell out of here," she said.

Mel did not have to be told twice. The two of them eased back into the woods a couple of hundred yards before Janice stopped. "Okay," she said, "this ought to be far enough."

"So what now?" Mel asked.

Janice sat down with her back against a tree and laid the Thompson across her lap. "Now we wait."
 
 
Strolin checked his watch and then walked over to his car. "Wake them up, Schmidt," he ordered. "It's time."

"All right, pigs, wake up," Schmidt growled, poking Wessel in the chest with his pistol. "It's time to make atonement to the Fatherland for your sins." Schmidt got out of the car and opened the rear door. "Come on, get moving," he barked.

Wessel and Mueller obeyed by getting out of the car on the same side. As the condemned men shuffled past Strolin did not bother to speak to them. Why should he? They already knew what was expected of them. "Karl" he called out.

"Sir?"

"Call in your men, it's time."

Soon Karl and his three men joined up with Schmidt to form a kind of guard detail for the two pilots. Strolin picked up one of the lanterns and followed along behind, nonchalantly stepping over Price's body on the way.
 
 
"Mel!"

"Mmm?"

"Mel, wake up."

"What is it?" her partner asked sleepily. The Southerner had been sleeping soundly and as sometimes will happen she did not yet fully realize just where she was.

"I think it's time," replied Janice. "Lay flat on the ground and cover your head."

"But--"

"Do as I say, damn it!" hissed Janice.
 
 
"Here, Otto, take this lantern," said Strolin. "I will take the car the far end of the airstrip so that the pilots can have a reference point for take off." The man took the lantern from his boss and continued on his way while Strolin started back to his car.

By now Mueller had been installed in the second plane and Schmidt and company were escorting Wessel to the lead one. Upon reaching the fuselage door the one called Otto held the lantern up to allow Schmidt to find the handle. With a smirk directed at Wessel he yanked on the latch. "In you go, hero."

The door opened and Schmidt, Wessel, and Karl saw the wooden box that Janice had propped against the door drop and strike the black box lying in the doorway. In the lifetime of that one second only Karl recognized the true meaning of what they were seeing. He didn't even have time to scream.
 
 
For Melinda Pappas it was as if the world was coming to an end. The incredible stillness of the night was suddenly pierced by a tremendous explosion. The ground shook and a gigantic fireball erupted from the doomed plane which in turn detonated the second plane destroying all in its fiery path. Schmidt, Karl and the rest were simply vaporized. In the woods the resulting shock wave began to knock down tree limbs all around Janice and Melinda. Realizing this the archaeologist threw her small body over Mel and dug her arms down under her. "Keep your head down!" she shouted. The two of them could do nothing but lay there listening to the deafening echo of the blast as it washed over them. At last the thunder began to die away. Janice slowly raised her head up and looked in the direction of the planes. At first she was surprised the resulting fire was so small but she then realized there was probably nothing left to burn. She rolled off her lover and got to her knees.

"Okay," she said, patting Mel on the rump. "Let's go."
 
 
Strolin awoke to a stabbing pain in his left shoulder. The last thing he remembered was opening the door to his car and then hearing a thunderous roar. What he did not know was the force of the blast had slammed him against the side of his vehicle dislocating his shoulder in the process. He shook his head in a desperate attempt to clear the cobwebs out. Then he remembered. The planes! The German struggled to his feet and looked down the airstrip. To his horror he saw nothing but burning debris where the planes had been parked.

"Nooooo!" He tried to scream it but nothing came out. As he stumbled down the airstrip clutching his shoulder he saw two dark forms appear out of the treeline, silhoutted against the flames.
 
 
"Be careful, Mel," Janice said. "This wreckage is hot."

"I will," Mel assured her. In fact she was carefully watching Janice's feet and making it a point to step exactly where she had. As the two of them picked their way along the airstrip they were unaware of the figure staggering toward them.
 
 
Those two must be the swine responsible for this! Stroling silently raged. He ignored the searing pain and pulled the Luger out of its holster. Aiming it at the two oncoming forms and desperately trying to steady his shaking hand, Strolin began to snap off the remaining rounds.

Janice's first reaction was that the popping noises were being caused by something in the flames. After the fourth pop the unmistakable whine of a bullet passed by her ear. "Get down, Mel!" she screamed. She turned back to find her and saw the woman was already on the ground. She now heard another pop and felt something hot nick her right arm. Grabbing her arm, she became aware of a voice screaming at her. She turned toward the sound and saw someone someone approaching. Strolin had reloaded his Luger and was once again raising it to fire. He never got the chance.

"You son of a bitch!" screamed Janice. She brought the Thompson up and emptied the entire thirty round magazine at the figure. At least a dozen of the .45 caliber slugs found their mark, turning Strolin's chest into so much hamburger. Satisfied the man was dead, Janice dropped the Thompson and slowly got to her feet. "Mel," she called out, "you okay?"

No answer.

Oh no! Janice rushed to her friend and dropped to her knees beside her. In the light of the flames saw the big patch of blood on Melinda's shirt. "Oh, God, Mel. Noo."

Upon hearing her name Mel opened her eyes and whispered hoarsely, "Jan?"

"I'm here, Kid," Janice said softly. She ripped open Mel's shirt and ran her hand up under the belle's left breast. The warm ooze was everywhere. She pulled her hand out and saw it was covered in blood. "Oh, Jesus," she gasped. Please, God, not this. Once more she ran her hand inside the shirt in an attempt to ascertain the severity of Mel's injury but this time her vision was not as clear for already the tears were beginning to flow.

"Jan?"

"Shhh," Janice said to her, "be quiet, sweetheart. Don't try to talk."

"It hurts, Jan." Mel groaned and bucked up as Janice's fingers found the wound. "Ohhh, myyyy." She caught her breath and then gasped, "Jan, am I--am I gonna....die?"

"Of course not," Janice replied, her voice cracking. "Mel, you ain't gonna die. Goddamn it, I won't let you die!" Blinking back the tears, she gently rolled Mel onto her side to get a better look at her wound.

"Jan?"

"Jesus, Mel, shut up, will ya?" Janice pleaded helplessly.

"Jan, in case...in case, you know...I just want you to thank you for lettin' me be a part of your life. It's...it's meant so very much to me."

Not as much as it's meant to me, Janice thought. Never as much as it's meant to me

As Melinda spiraled down into the blackness of unconsciousness the last thing she whispered was, "I love you."

**********

She would later remember it as like climbing out of a dark well into the beautiful sunlight. As she got nearer to the top everything got brighter and brighter until finally the whole world was awash in the sun's warm glow. The only problem was the fog. Yes the light was bright but for some reason she could not seem to be able to focus on anything. It was as if she was looking through one of those glass shower doors. She could see colors and very dim forms but they were just frustrating blurs to her. Presently the forms almost took shape but they still were not quite perfect. Where am I? she would later remember thinking. Is this what it's like to be dead?

Then she heard the voice. "Mel?" Oh my God, she remembered thinking. Is Janice dead too?

Janice Covington saw her adored lover's beautiful blue eyes flutter open and look up at her. "Mel," she repeated, it's me--Jan."

"J..." At first Mel had some difficulty forming words. "Jan, where are we?"

"We're in a hospital in San Juan," said Janice.

"What...what happened?"

Janice smiled at her and said, "Ya took a Nazi slug in the abdomen, Kid." Now that she had been told by the doctors her beloved was out of danger she could afford to be cute. "But don't worry, the docs here said you're too tough to kill. Heck, you'll be up and around in no time they said."

"But what about Price and the, the others."

Janice narrowed her eyelids to mere slits. "Don't worry about them," she said, gritting her teeth in rage as she thought of what those men had almost taken away from her. After Mel lost consciousness Janice had managed to bind her wound up enough to stop the bleeding. It was then she had noticed Strolin's car parked at the end of the airstrip. As she hurried toward it she had not even bothered to look down at the man she had just killed. To her he was no more than a pile of dung to be stepped around. Once at the car she had prayed the thing would start and to her great relief it did. It was when she turned on the headlights that she saw the body of Price lying in a pool of blood a short distance away. You bastards deserve each other, she had thought at the time.

It had taken her several hours to reach San Juan. She knew that was the only place with the facilities to perform surgery. Janice had never felt so helpless. She was used to being in control, of calling the shots, but she realized these shots were being called by a much bigger boss. That first long day at the hospital had been the worst. At first it was feared she might have lost too much blood, then they worried internal damage to her organs, then infection. When the surgery first began Janice tried to wait it out in the waiting room but she found she just could not stand it in there. She had to get outside. So she walked over to the little park across the street and found a secluded spot where she could sit unobserved. And she had cried.

Janice Covington simply did not know where all the tears came from. She cried during the surgery, she cried when they told her it was going to be touch and go for awhile. And she had cried again when the doctors told her Mel was going to live.
 

Janice reached down and took her lover by the hand. "How ya feelin', Kid?"

"Sore," Mel answered.

"Well that's to be expected," allowed Janice. "Hey, guess what? I talked to Donovan this morning. He said Pierce broke down and confessed everything."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. And he said for you to quit lollygaggin' around and get your ass back to work. He said the OSS needs people like you," said Janice.

"The OSS? So it's official now?" Mel asked.

"It's official. Donovan has been named director of the Office of Strategic Services. Sounds important huh?"

"Golly, Jan. Did he really say that about me?"

"Now would I lie to you?" asked Janice with mock indignance.

"Well I..."

"Don't answer that!" said Janice, before she could finish. In truth, after Janice had related the events of the past few days to him, "Wild Bill" had told her they were to take all the time they needed down there and that once they were ready to come home he would make damn sure a plane would be shaken loose for them.

Mel looked down at her hands and frowned.

"What's the matter?" Janice asked anxiously, figuring something was wrong.

"Wa-yul," the belle drawled, 'it's jes' that I my eyes are fuzzy. I can't seem to see straight."

Janice almost burst out in tears again but this time for the sheer joy of the moment. The archaeologist reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out an object she had completely forgotten about. "Darn it, Mel," she cooed softly. At this point one single tear managed to escape and run down her cheek. "You don't have your glasses on."

As Mel put on her glasses Janice reached into a drawer beside the bed and pulled out the book of poems by Robert Frost. "Okay, Kid, she said brightly, "let's start gettin' my money's worth out of this thing."
 

Epilogue

Five days after sinking the Northern Cross, the U-141 was picked up on sonar off the coast of Florida by the American destroyer Morda. Beck and his crew tried every trick in the book to escape but Captain Good, the Morda's skipper, was an old sub-chaser from the First World War and he not only knew the book--he had helped write it. Just before sundown six of the Morda's depth charges managed to find their mark, dooming the U-141 to a watery grave at the bottom of the Atlantic.

**********

After Strolin's superiors in Berlin learned of the failure of his plan, the families of Karl Wessel and Wilhelm Mueller were duly rounded up and shipped off to Dachau. There within eight months either by gas, torture, starvation, or overwork, all fifteen of them--men, women...children would perish.
 
  The End

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