Air Ace Vs Heidegger's Horror (part 2) free porn video

AIR ACE VERSUS HEIDEGGER'S HORROR by Vanessa Lawrence (continued from part 1) Chapter Four Chuck Dennison swooped as low as she dared over the wreck of the G-1B. It had hit pretty hard and was blazing from end to end. A short distance away a group of people seemed to just be staring at the inferno, but an occasional bullet still whizzed by the Sky Shark's canopy, showing that all the fight had not gone out of everyone down there. There was no way to determine whether or not Von Schmuck had survived the crash, and it was far too dangerous to try to land and find out. She surveyed the scene for moment, then muttered a mild curse and turned the battered Discombobulator south toward the distant lights of Guatemala City. As they flew through the soft, now tranquil tropical night, both Chuck and Larry took turns on the radio trying to convince the capitol's airport radioman that a serious emergency really existed. There were two men on duty in the control tower, but both were disinclined to believe the ravings of two unknown gringas. They also refused to put them through to the police, or the army, or even the American Embassy. On the other hand, they were more than willing to make a wide range of salacious comments, and lewd suggestions. Their English vocabularies seemed to extend far into that end of the language. Chuck was so mad she could hardly think straight. The fires of combat still simmered through her veins, and the constant underlying ache of her dear friend's death only made it all hurt that much more. The men's lack of respect, the absence of even rudimentary good manners, and the patronizing, and propositioning over the radio was surprising and infuriating. At Larry's suggestion she broke off contact and bored into the blackness with fury raging in her brain. After a minute or two's stony silence Chuck suddenly pulled a sad little smile. She turned to Larry and confessed, "Y'know, partner; I don't think I'd believe a story like this if I were on the other end of the radio, either." She took a glance down at the well filled front of her blouse and grimaced. Then she saw the gold neckchain and it's swastika pendant glinting against her skin. With a snarl she snapped it off her neck, cracked open the canopy, and hurled the disgusting piece of junk out into the night. There was an audible "ting" as it ricocheted off one of the prop blades behind her. "I can hardly believe the whole thing myself.", she admitted. "But we've got to get down there and somehow convince those two clowns that we're not just a couple of crazy American dames!" She stopped for another mental search of possible convincing arguments and shrugged helplessly. "Feel free to chime in if you have any ideas on how to go about it, partner.", she said sarcastically. Larry was unable to reply immediately. She had dug out her compact and was refreshing her lipstick just then. * * * * * * * * * * Eight hours later Chuck eased into the wind and brought her refueled, rearmed, and hastily patched up Dennison Discombobulator to a perfect landing at the plantation's airfield. In the landing pattern behind her were three C-47s filled with disbelieving, but alert, Guatemalan soldiers. The country's seven flyable P-51D Mustang fighters crisscrossed the brightening sky overhead ready to deal death to anyone on the ground with fight left in them. It had taken some doing but the presence of the Sky Shark, a plane with a world-wide recognition factor, riddled with bullet holes, a long distance call to Colonel Jose Cuervo in Mexico City, and a face to face meeting with the American Ambassador, eventually convinced the Guatemalans that Chuck might be not be the lunatic woman she appeared to be. She'd re-interated to Cuervo details of their recent get together, and answered all her old friend's questions about it. She told Cuervo things that only Chuck Dennison could know, having to convince him before he could persuade the Guatemalans, aware all the while she was doing it that her soprano voice was making the task far more difficult. Finally, it was her recounting of a weekend in Naples when Jose, Larry, and Chuck had been entertained by three sisters they had met at a bar near the city's main library. She was able to answer Jose's questions about the sojourn in exquisite detail, slowly changing the man's half asleep, disbelieving peevishness into a wide awake, shocked, and fascinated acceptance. Her standing with the crowd in the tower radio room went cup appreciably when the renowned Mexican war hero finally vouched for her. The U. S. Ambassador, C. Crawford Hollidge, had been a long time friend of Chuck's father. He was a bit easier to convince, having known Chuck since she had been a youngster. Of course, he, too, was initially quite perturbed at being yanked out of bed in the middle of the night over what sounded like the ravings of a completely mad American woman. But, here, Chuck had the advantage of having a face to face meeting. Chuck despite her remarkable transformation, was still, essentially, Chuck. Once the ambassador got past the overall change in her appearance and demeanor, which was enormous, and was able to observe and make note of the individual details: the set of her eyes, the basic shape of her jaw, the characteristic alertness: he began to see the resemblance. In spite of himself he began to believe her story. Fortunately, anyone who had known Chuck would have remarked on his resemblance to the red haired woman who paced with controlled fire before the ambassador in the embassy's high vaulted reception hall. The man had questions, naturally; and the scepticism of a long political and diplomatic career; but Chuck had all the correct answers. As the distinguished looking older man began to accept that she really was the child of his old friend his distant, brusque demeanor began to soften. He began to appreciate why Chuck had been so successful during the war. How odd, how shocking, painful, disorienting, and degrading must it have been to have undergone such experiences? And yet, in spite of treatment that would have driven most men insane, she had managed to maintain her courage and equilibrium, organize an escape for herself and her friend, Larry, and foil an unbelievably insidious and carefully planned plot against the United States almost single-handedly. She may be a woman, but she was definitely not a woman to be disregarded. Hollidge was not immune to her physical charms, either. Once he had determined that Chuck was not a nut he found himself marvelling at the effectiveness of the Heidegger Gas, and at the grace, presence and poise of the woman before him. Her hips swayed disturbingly as she paced, beautifully rounded buttocks outlined enticingly under her tight-fitting jodhpurs, spike heels clicking loudly on the marble floor of the room. Her breasts jiggled ever so slightly under her blouse with each step, and her big beautiful green eyes flashed with intelligence and vitality as she set out for him the events of the last few days. Her well modulated, sexy soprano voice did wonderful things to his spine, and, in spite of himself, his attention began to wander into other areas. "Enough, Miss Dennison!", he said quickly, slicing into the wall of argument she had been throwing at him. "I am convinced that you are who you say you are; and that your utterly preposterous story is, nevertheless, true!" He began to smile tentatively as she gasped to a sudden halt in mid sentence, mouth open, ready to pounce on her next word. He turned to the station security man, who had been standing alertly by the door. "Ted! Go wake up Colonel Hall and get him down here, now!" She began to feel much better when the United States, in the person of it's ambassador, officially endorsed her identity, vouched for her character, and urged the Guatemalan government to assist and co-operate with her. The Guatemalan government responded quickly. Despite a very limited public awareness within the United States, the U.S. pretty much ran things in Guatemala. The truth of the Nazi plot was admittedly fantastic, and the details were quite complex, but Chuck was able to get the Ambassador, and the American Military Attache at the embassy, Marine Colonel Dustin Hall, sufficiently briefed on the events and activities at the Punta Gorda Plantation to set up a preliminary plan for the rounding up the fleeing Nazis. During her briefing she was much too absorbed with the urgency of the immediate situation, and the aching blanket of grief she felt over Emil's death, to give more than a passing thought to Colonel Hall's nice smile, his obviously great physical condition, and his appealing nervousness in her presence. In spite of everyone's intense efforts, it was nearly six hours before Chuck could amass a sufficient force to lead back to the plantation by air. Other garrisons along the way had been alerted, and fully half of the small country's armed forces was converging on the plantation from all directions. When she had time, several days later, to consider all that she and Larry had had to do, the co-operation of so many different branches of government - both Guatemalan and American- that first had to be convinced and motivated, and the completely implausible nature of the Nazi threat; the six hour gap that had seemed so agonizingly slow at the time was actually quite remarkable. Chuck slid back the canopy as the Discombobulator rolled down the Punta Gorda runway and got her first close up look at the effects of her earlier strafing runs. The place was a complete shambles. Hanger B was a pile of twisted and blackened girders and corrugated steel siding that still smoldered sullenly, sending a greasy black finger of smoke into the air that slowly drifted off to the southeast. The warehouse area was largely rubble, as was the barracks compound that slid into view in the grove beyond the hangers as the plane approached them. Disorganized and dispirited women, some by themselves, and some in groups, wandered aimlessly about the area looking for food, trying to come to grips with what had happened to them. Others stood slack jawed, staring at the deadly shape of the Sky Shark as it rolled past. Some had stripped off their uniforms and wore only their underwear. Many had taken the time to alter their garments, cutting off their trousers into shorts, discarding their weapons and webbing, removing the too-long sleeves from their blouses. A lot of them had tried to clean themselves up and do something with their waist-length hair. Others just sat and stared off into space, or cried pitifully. Chuck turned off the runway and taxied back to the pad outside Hanger A, which was still undamaged. In the rear seat Larry howled in anger as she saw no sign of her own Curtiss Commando. "Those Ratzi bastards made off with my plane!", she wailed. "That crud, Von Schmuck, must have flown it out of here!" As Chuck cut the engine switch a well groomed woman in a clean and stylish blue dress came out of the still undamaged hanger and gave her a friendly wave. The woman dragged a set of chocks from the edge of the mat and put them around the Sky Shark's wheels with the skill of long practice. She was blonde, shapely, and seemed completely at ease in her feminine clothing but, unlike the vast majority of the others, she also seemed to know what she was doing. Probably, Chuck imagined, she was a transformed ground crewman who had enough wits left to continue performing her duties. She moved with the ease and the natural feminine grace that had surprised Chuck so much after her own exposure to the gas. As she drew closer Chuck saw that the woman looked vaguely familiar, too; much the same way Larry had when she had been introduced as Katrina. Had that only been three days ago?? The girl's blue dress was definitely familiar. It had come from the big closet back at the Hacienda. Chuck remembered it well from her detailed inspection of the wardrobe the day before. The woman had obviously gone through Frau Heidegger's things and helped herself. The blonde came around to the front of the wing root and smiled up at Chuck. That was when it dawned on her. The smile was so familiar, so unique, and so dear to her, that she squealed in delight, her heart nearly bursting with joy. Leaping out of the cockpit, she practically fell off the wing in her eagerness to get down, surprising the hell out of Larry, who looked around wondering if the plane was on fire, or something. "Emil!!!", Chuck screamed happily as she gathered in the blonde, tears of joy rolling down her cheeks. "Darling! Emil! I thought you were dead!!" The woman spread her arms to receive her friend's hurtling body, smiling self effacingly through her own tears as their mutual femininity got in their way. She was indeed Chuck's new friend and recent lover, ...only now she was as much a woman as was the American. Their friendship remained undiluted by events but, just as Chuck had found herself a heterosexual woman, just as she had been as a man, so too did Emil discover she no longer felt the same emotional intensity or carnal physical attraction for the red haired American girl. She had been unconscious when the gas engulfed her. As a result her core personality had been far more extensively affected. At the primary level of consciousness she thought of herself as Emily, a healthy young woman with completely conventional heterosexual wants and desires. Her secondary mental level had been converted as well. Every fiber of her being accepted her femininity as completely natural. She was all woman, with no desire to be anything else. Only at the tertiary level did a small core of Emil remain. Here resided his memories of having been a male, and of his life up to that point, but Emil had little control of anything else. Elements of his male personality had been shunted into their female corollaries and incorporated into the fabric of the woman known as Emily, interwoven completely, indistinguishably, lost in total femininity. They hugged for several minutes, patting each other comfortingly, venting pent up sorrows and fears, and relishing the happiness they felt at their reunion. Emily was crying for joy while Chuck, sailing on an incredible crest of elation, began to sense, intuitively, that things were now quite different. The relationship was now more like the one Larry held; that of a close, dear, personal friend. Finally they stepped back from each other and Emily, grinning, turned around rather proudly, showing off her new body and clothes. "I guess you can call me Emily now.", she said, her voice a light breathy soprano. "I've accepted it as my fate. It feels normal and natural, and it doesn't hurt a bit, except the back of my head where that bastard, Kleinmeister, conked me." She reached up and winced as she felt the lump on her head. "I find that I'm surprisingly comfortable as a woman." "I can see you are,... Emily... And I guess I'm not that ticked off about my own womanhood anymore, either.", she admitted. Then she laughed. "The mental adjustment we're feeling is evidently a side effect of Heidegger's Gas. And, of course, it's not as though we have any choice about it. Is it?" Larry, being careful not to soil her clothes, slid gracefully off the wingroot and walked around to join them. "No it isn't.", she concurred offering her hand to Emily. "I'm Larry DeMille; or I used to be.", she added, shaking the blonde's hand firmly. "I think I'm going to call myself Laraine, from now on, though." Her eyes were flashing with a barely repressed rage. "Those Nazi bastards can shove the name 'Katrina', and that passive, submissive sex toy persona that Liesl Heidegger invented for me, where the sun doesn't shine." "I may be a woman, but I'm sure as hell not going to be their kind of woman." She turned to Chuck with a raised eyebrow. "What about you, green eyes? What are you going to call yourself? I know you can't be too happy about Von Schmuck's choice of 'Fiona'." Chuck shook her head and grimaced. "Don't even remind me.", she griped, blushing. "I haven't had time to give it any thought ...until now, Laraine.", -she made a point of using her friend's newly chosen name-, "But you're right. We can't let those cruds have even that much of a victory." She paused for a moment, arms still around the others, her face a picture of concentration. "Charlotte?", she muttered, verbally testing names as they occurred to her. "Charlene?" "Carla?" "Nah, none of those feel right. Carla is close, though..... Wait a minute! ... How about Carole!" She stopped for a minute, rolling the idea over in her mind, poking it, prodding it, considering from all angles. "Yeah! That's It!", she beamed. "From now on I'm Carole Dennison." The name seemed to fit in her mind like a long sought piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Happily, with that suddenly vital detail settled, she linked her arms with her friends and started off toward the Hacienda. "By the way,", she added, squeezing their arms playfully, "My friends can still call me Chuck." The three of them laughed in a very ladylike way as, behind them in the dim light of a tropical pre-dawn the Guatemalan soldiers piled out of their transport planes and fanned out to secure the perimeter of the plantation. Some time later Carole was able to pry a report from Major Gomez, who was in charge of the Guatemalan troops. The Nazi's had kept very careful records. Every person on the plantation had been meticulously documented. There were no males to be found in the area, but all of the women they had rounded up had been easily identified through the photos in their paybooks, which, being good German soldiers, they kept on their persons. A careful inspection of the plantation had turned up groups of women trying to hide in the fields and out- buildings, and the bodies of seventy nine killed in the strafing attacks were strewn around the airstrip and the perimeter. Carole personally sought out the laboratory building where she confirmed in her own mind that the crumpled, frightened looking figure of Doctor Leopold Heidegger with the bullet between his eyes was, in fact, dead. He was extremely dead, and with him went any immediate hope of any of them returning to their original sex. There had been a fire in the room, and in the storage area next door. Evidently some of the chemicals had ignited during the strafings. All of the records of the doctors research were completely destroyed. A survey of the women gas victims demonstrated a fairly narrow range of types. They were all apparently in their early twenties, healthy, and quite comely as a group. A further 178 people were missing or unaccounted for, including Ingo Von Schmuck, Wilhelm Oldendorf, Liesl Heidegger, and several other officers. Emily, having been vouched for by Carole and Laraine, was able to provide them with considerable details of the Nazi exodus, Ten trucks had headed south, and Larry's C-46 had headed east after taking off, although Emily had been unable to find out where they were all headed. And she had not been able to learn anything about Von Schmuck, survival, injury, escape, nothing! She did, however, give them complete details of their entry into the country, and the names of those who had helped them. Distressingly, some of the names were those of Americans, employees of the Amalgamated Fruit Company, the huge American firm that controlled most of the agricultural produce of Guatemala. Major Gomez radioed a warning to all stations and towns in the area to be alert for trucks, and large groups of foreign women. He was annoyingly sure that they would have them all in the bag by nightfall. Carole wasn't nearly as confident. She had carefully searched the wreckage of the big Dutch fighter plane and found no sign of the crew, nor even any blood. She was all too aware that Von Schmuck was a vicious, determined, and resourceful woman. And Liesl Heidegger was a bitch on wheels. With at least some of the resources of the Amalgamated Fruit Company at their disposal, the Nazis were going to be far harder to catch than Gomez imagined. The members of the group that had fled had to be regarded as well disciplined, well trained, and probably well armed. It absolutely infuriated Carole the way Major Gomez just assumed that his men would have an easy time dealing with the fleeing Nazis simply because they were mostly women. She wanted to kick him in his smug superiority, and nearly did, a couple of times. On the other hand, he was kind of cute, ...if you liked the tall, dark, and handsome type. Carole, Laraine, and Emily quickly saw that the Major and his men were going to be of little help without serious prodding. They quickly formed their own group and pooled what they knew with what they were able to deduce from personally questioning the prisoners, and from the physical evidence about the Haceinda. Ingo Von Schmuck had indeed fallen victim to the gas. According to the descriptions from several of the quite submissive prisoners she was now a tallish, strikingly beautiful, dark haired woman with a curvacious figure. Her gunner, the one who had proven so skillful during their aerial battle, and whose name they now learned was Wilhelm Oldendorf, had been turned into a petite, busty blonde with big blue eyes that rivalled her breasts as attention getters. The large women's closet in the Hacienda had been carefully and selectively picked over. Luggage was missing, as was a car from the garage. Emily reported that there had been several men who escaped transformation. These included several officers. Since Laraine's C-46 had been taken it was safe to assume that a pilot was among the men. It was only too apparent that enough time had elapsed for the group in the C-46 to have fled the country, but they knew that Von Schmuck, Liesl Heidegger, and probably one or two others, had fled in the missing car. That fact led Chuck to believe, maybe it was just wishful thinking, that the C-46 might still be in Guatemala. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * On the outskirts of Huehuetenango, near a cluster of crudely built, straw roofed houses, the Mercedes encountered a roadblock. There could be no turning back. That would only lead to disaster. The time had come to find out if the hastily conceived disguises they'd adopted for the road would hold up under examination. Liesl put out a hand to Oldendorf, who was cocking her Luger in the front passenger's seat. "Be a good little girl, Wendy.", she cooed soothingly in English with a cultured American accent. "Let mommy talk to the nice policemen. Your little friend there," -she patted the cool angles of the pistol.- "should stay out of sight unless it's absolutely neccessary." "Wendy", who was beginning to get caught up in spirit of her disguise, smiled sweetly and hid the pistol under the voluminous skirt of her pretty pink dress, one of the ones Liesl had bought for her little secret love games with Kleinmeister. They had strapped her breasts down with a tightly wrapped sheet and dressed her in a pink pinafore dress with lace trimmed white cotton socks, and white leather children's shoes with buckled straps over the insteps. Her hair had been woven into pigtails tied with pink ribbons, and a feathery fringe of bangs brushed her forehead. With her face devoid of makeup she looked about eleven or twelve years old. At first she had rebelled at the idea of playing a child, but the delicious falseness of the image had begun to appeal to her as they rode west. She had tried speaking in a tiny little voice, and adopting the awkward mannerisms of a child on the verge of womanhood. The results had been surprising and quite effective. As she practiced, the role quickly became more natural and convincing. By the time they neared Huehuetenango she was actually having fun being a little girl. "OK mommy.", she replied in her little girl voice. "I'll be good. Can I have a present if we get past the nice policemen without having to kill them?" "We'll see, dear. But you'll have to be a very good little girl." Liesl Heidegger, too, was beginning to find a strange enjoyment in their little adventure. In the back seat, her dark hair gathered into a white net snood held with a white plastic barrette, and displaying a few touches of makeup to highlight her truly remarkable eyes and full sensual lips, Inga Von Schmuck stopped sulking, straightened up, and made an effort to look pleasant, pretty, wide eyed, and innocent. She was wearing a navy blue, short sleeved blouse with white polka dots, puffy sleeves, and a deep vee neckline, over a short white skirt. Her magnificent legs were beautifully displayed in nylon stockings, while her feet were tucked into open toed, white leather, sling backed, high heeled pumps. White button clip-on earrings accented the points of her jawline. She was supposed to be the older daughter; willful, flirtatious, self- centered, naive, and impractical. The shoes alone were totally inappropriate for a trip through rough country, a nice touch she thought. She took off her sunglasses, squinted at the suddenly brighter morning, gave her head a haughty toss, and folded her perfectly manicured hands demurely in her lap. Just beside her, in a beautiful white leather shoulder purse, lay a loaded and cocked Walther PPK with the safety on. Frau Heidegger eased the Mercedes into neutral and gently applied the brakes as the sleepy squad of rumpled looking policemen got to their feet and stumbled into something approaching alertness. She brought the big automobile to a halt beside a thin, mustachioed officer and smiled her warmest for the man. For her role as the mother of the two younger girls she had pinned her light brown hair up and put on a soft purple felt fedora with a broad gros grain band and a feather on the right side. She wore it at an jaunty angle, and had turned the right side of the brim up and the left side down. A stylish lilac colored blouse fit her well, while she favored a wide brown belt and a long, narrow, side slit beige skirt over her pretty and practical brown leather high heeled boots. She was wearing expensive gold jewelry and was the image of the fashionable wife of a rich American fruit company manager. "Buenas dias, senores.", she said, apparently beaming with pride at her meagre Spanish. "Hablan Ingles, espero?", she added pleadingly. The officer smiled ingratiatingly. "Si ...er.. Jess, senora. I spik ver' good Ingles, no?", he thought. Liesl's smile grew even warmer. "Oh thank God, Captain I'm afraid my Spanish is not quite ready for anything important. What brings you to the road at this early hour? I hope there are no banditos operating in the vicinity." "Oh no, senora.", he temporised. "Eet ees nottin' like daht. To tell jew dee troot they tol' us ver' leetle; jost to put up a barricade an' to check thee papers of ev'juan thot came alon'. Some trouble back to thee east, I theenk." "That's a relief. I was worried for a minute. It's comforting to know that you men are on duty. My daughters and I have only just come down to your beautiful country from the United States to join my husband. He works for the Amalgamated Fruit Company. Perhaps you know him; George Wainwright?" The police lieutenant nearly jumped out of his uniform. George Wainwright was one of the most powerful men in Guatemala. He had the ear of El Presidente, Juan Jose Arevalo; and the company he worked for controlled most of what went on in the country. The policeman's manner became even more obsequious, bowing and grinning like an idiot. "I hov never met Senor Wainwright, bot I certainly know hees name. Eet ees a great pleasure to meet jew Senora Wainwright." Liesl sensed that it was going well. She had the man eating out of her hand. "I'm so sorry, Captain.", (she was well aware that he was only a Lieutenant), "I have completely forgotten my manners. I am Elanore Wainwright; and these are my daughters." She turned to Oldendorf who was playing at being bashful at the moment. This is my younger daughter, Wendy. She's going to be twelve in three weeks. Say hello to the nice man, Wendy." Oldendorf was showing real talent for the role. She cringed against the far door and blushed prettily, squirming, and refusing to look directly at the cop. "Hi.", she said softly at last. "You'll have to forgive her, Captain.", Liesl chided the apparent youngster gently. "She's very shy, and this is the first time she's ever been away from home." Lieutenant Hector Alonso Benitez was overwhelmed that such an important person should even think of apologizing, or explaining anything to a simple peasant such as himself. These Americans and their Democracy seemed largely blind to class distinctions. He took off his hat and bowed. "Good mornin' to jew, leetle lady. You have nottin' to fear from me. I am Hector Benitez, an' I hov a leetle gorl jus' about yore age. Her name ees Maria." Oldendorf stopped squirming and sat up. A big smile grew on her angelic features. "You do?", she asked, apparently interested for the first time. "Can she come over to our house to play?" "Not right now, dear. Maybe on our next visit." Liesl demurred. Turning to the policeman, she decided it was past time to get to the point. "What can we do for you this morning, Captain?" The man looked uncomfortable. He always hated having to deal with important people, particularly when they had the connections to hurt him far worse than he did them. This had the potential to be just such a case. "I weel need to see your papers, senora. Yours, and your lovely daughters." In the back seat "Heather Wainwright" stiffened a bit and reached for her purse very carefully. "Mom" caught the move and flicked her a look of disapproval. Liesl smiled again and began rummaging through her own pocketbook. After a moment she came out with a very real looking American passport. It was one of a number she and her late husband had kept ready for emergencies. Before they left the Hacienda she had stamped it with a new customs entry stamp for the airport at Guatemala City. "Here is mine, Captain.", she said apologetically. "I'm afraid the children's are in one of the bags in the trunk back there. The customs men tossed them in when they finished the inspection at the airport." She turned to the back seat. "This is my grown up daughter, Heather. She'll get them for you." To Inga Von Schmuck, now a twenty year old American girl, she said, "Heather, help the men find your papers. I think they're in the big brown bag,... or maybe the black one." "Heather", who had found herself the center of attention for the other five men of the roadblock crew, frowned petulantly, but got to her feet. She knew perfectly well that, while Liesl may have covered herself with forged papers, there were damn sure no passports or visas for "Heather" and "Wendy" buried in the luggage. If they had to show them they were going to have to kill these lice-ridden buffoons. "Very well, mother," she replied as she stretched slightly for her audience, favoring them with a dazzling smile as she did so, "but I think all that stuff is on the bottom of the pile." Inga Von Schmuck had spent much of the trip thinking about her situation, examining the way her body had reacted to the make up and the pretty clothes, scrutinizing her mental reactions and attitudes, and recalling with increasing comfort the way she had felt when she was around young Kessler. It could have been worse, she realized. She could have died at the hands of that accursed American bitch. It was with not a little horror that she realized that she could have been wounded, or disfigured. She was, she had to admit, quite pleased with her beauty, and the power it seemed to have had over Kessler and the other men back at the plantation. She was, she had finally decided, in full control of her mind and body, although her primary brain functions were totally absorbed by the feminization inherent in the gas. Her body language, gestures, walk, speech patterns, and social orientation had become naturally female. At the secondary level Inga thought that she retained all of her old memories and skills, and actually imagined that she was beginning to see delicious new possibilities for her womanhood. In fact, she was no longer repelled by the fact of her femininity, as some of the other gassed men seemed to have been. She had examined several of the ramifications of her new situation, and was intrigued, even anxious, to get on with her life. It was ridiculously easy to play these men. Her smile alone was enough to make them forget their duty. They couldn't take their eyes off her as she posed in the back of the huge Mercedes. The quicker witted of them tossed their rifles to their mates and practically tripped each other to open the door for her. As she stepped down prettily onto the dirt road one gallant private took her hand and helped her alight. She favored him with a steamy smile, leaned in to give him a close whiff of her perfume, and whispered, "Gracias, muchacho!" As the man grinned like an idiot, and his squad mate watched jealously "Heather" turned to her "mother". "You were so right, Mother.", she cooed. "Latin men are so polite and considerate." She, too, was getting completely into her role, and having fun with her new powers. As she started for the back of the car Lieutenant Benitez thought of another way to ingratiate himself with these very influential women, and in so doing, unwittingly saved their lives. He put out a hand and stopped her. "There is no need to upset all your belongin's, senorita I can see thot jew are not banditas Please continue your journey! I am sorry, ver' sorry for any inconvenience or alarm we may hov caused jew." His eyes roamed over Von Schmuck's spectacular figure, staying a moment or two on her legs, before he offered her his hand to assist her back into the car. As he did he glared over at the hapless private, who backed off immediately. "Thank you, Captain.", she offered with real interest coloring her tone. "I'll be sure to mention to my father how kindly you and your men have treated us. I was a little worried about coming down here, but with men like you around to protect us I feel much better." The man beamed with pleasure. He watched appreciatively as Heather took her seat, hiked up her skirt, and crossed her legs deliberately. She moved with the lithe grace of a jungle cat. He forced himself to turn away, blushing. He did not want to be thought of as rude. Mrs Wainwright was holding five American bank notes. She carefully displayed them so that all the soldiers could see them, and put them in his hand. "I want to thank you and your men for being so nice, Captain. Please share these with your soldiers and enjoy them." He looked down at his hand and saw a ten dollar bill and four fives. It was the equivalent of three months pay for all of them. Tears came to his eyes as he thought of what he could do with his share of it. "Muchas gracias, senora; senoritas bonitas!" He saluted as Liesl put the car in gear. "Vaya con Dios!" The three women smiled. Even little Wendy was grinning and waving timidly as they rolled away to the west and the safety of their friends in Huehuetenango. Behind them the soldiers were lining up for their share of the money, far more interested in that now than in the gringas who gave it to them. * * * * * * * * * * * * The astonishingly over-decorated Great Hall of the Presidential Palace was ablaze with the lights from a hundred chandeliers. The mellow glow shone through the banks of tall windows on either side, throwing serried stripes of light through the dark across the courtyard to the lesser buildings that surrounded the palace, and beyond to the jumble of low, lightless and ramshackle houses of the ordinary people of the city. Only the important structures in Ciudad Guatemala had the luxury of electricity, and at night those priviledged few were easy to spot. Carole stood near the heart of the blaze sipping chilled white wine as she swept her eyes over the animated throng that filled that great gilt encrusted barn. Everyone present was in full sartorial flower, both those in civilian clothes, and the many wearing Guatemala's colorful and gold- bedecked, nineteenth century style, full-dress military uniforms. It was as if the people were attempting to out-glitter the room. The whole scene reminded her of a movie set from one those Erroll Flynn costume epics. She half expected to see Nigel Bruce and C. Aubrey Smith come sauntering around one of the ornate columns in full British Army dress uniforms of the Victorian era; with Spring Byington and Olivia De Haviland on their arms. Earlier, getting ready for the soiree back at her hotel suite, Carole had felt a little foolish and very conspicuous in her own elegant new ballgown, but once inside the palace she'd realized that anything less would have caused attention even more forcefully. Still, crowds were a little unsettling to her, especially being on the receiving end of the openly curious and often admiring inspections of the men in attendance. These were constant, open, brazen, and often downright rude by her own standards of behavior. She tried to recall if Chuck had ever behaved like a lout with a woman, and decided that, given her unique sensationalistic situation, he probably would have. Her initial anger turned to cool distain, and finally, resigned acceptance. "If I spend half a day getting primped, polished, and gussied up,", she had sighed to Laraine at one point in the festivities, "I guess I can't object too much if the guys take notice." In the days leading up to the reception she had had the chance to arrange for credit through the assistance of the Embassy staff. She, and her girlfriends, had been introduced to the three existing fashionable shops in the country through the graciousness of the Ambassador's wife, and through discussions with the wives of several of the, suddenly very humble, Amalgamated Fruit Company honchos. Although Carole had been too busy over the previous few days to pay much attention to it, her core personality, Chuck, had continued to be eroded by Heidegger's gas. She was dimly aware of her ever growing femininity, but the more it grew the more comfortable and at home she felt with it. Shopping had begun as a strange adventure. Her initial interest in the multitude of new colors and styles and types of clothing now available to her grew with each minor success at choosing a piece of apparrel, an item of jewelry, a tasteful accessory. By the second day she was actually having fun. Annette Hollidge was a kind, intelligent, and charming guide. Carole began to regard her as a something of a mentor when it came to matters of style. Now, as she stood in the foyer outside the main hall chatting amiably with the U.S. ambassador and his wife, she found that she rather enjoyed the way her escort for the evening, Major Miguel Gomez, gallantly kept her slightest wish instantly gratified. Carole had to admit that she felt absolutely wonderful. And the facts that she looked as though she had just stepped off the pages of Vogue, and really enjoyed getting fussed over by Miguel, didn't hurt her disposition any either; although the whole idea of being pretty, or of being some guy's date, was still new to her. Annette Hollidge's personal hairdresser had worked on her for most of the morning, and that had proved to be quite uplifting as well. Her hair was beautifully coiffed, and her dark green gown showed off her figure to perfection. Everyone in the group was feeling quite pleased with themselves; and with good reason. The Nazi plot had been completely derailed. Heidegger was dead, and the threat of his gas was lost with him. Most of the fleeing Nazis were in custody. Their truck convoys had run into heavily armed roadblocks set up in their paths with the help of superb aerial reconnaisance organized by Laraine. Around her the murmur and babble of the large and festive crowd in the Great Hall mingled with the sound of a small, but competent orchestra, which was set up on the balcony near the main staircase. It all faded into the background a bit as Carole listened to Annette Hollidge's stories about Bess Truman's almost passionate avoidance of any kind of publicity with only half an ear. The rest of her thoughts wandered back over those first few hours of the search. As happy as she was with the final results, she was all too aware that her own initial stubbornness had caused several prime hours to be wasted. During that first day of the hunt she had initially felt an ever increasing frustration over Major Gomez's patronizing attitude toward her and her friends. Laraine, Emily, and herself, had all been combat soldiers with far more experience than Gomez, or any of his men. But, just because they now lacked a penis, and had acquired breasts, the man simply ignored their suggestions and proceeded on his own way. Just an inch away from physically attacking the man, she had been surrounded by her pals and forced out onto the front porch of the Hacienda. "You're losing control, Carole.", Emily hissed at her through clenched teeth and immobile lips. "And you're not helping the mission, or yourself, by getting into a pissing contest with Major Gomez. If you just calm down and think about it for a minute, there are ways to get what you want." Both Laraine and Emily had long since freshened up and put on some of Frau Heidegger's prettiest clothes. Carole had been noticing for some time that they seemed to be having some success in influencing Gomez and his men, This had only increased her annoyance. A few minutes later, upstairs,in the quiet of her former room, Carole decided that Emily was probably right. There was more than one way to skin this particular cat. She got out of her now thoroughly sweaty and dirty flying outfit and took a hot bath, using the delightfully relaxing soak to plan her new approach to Gomez Later, when she stood at the open french doors in the Hacienda's elegant dining room, feeling much better, Major Gomez, acting on a suggestion from her, bustled about on the phone across the room busily checking with several of his outposts even though the vast bulk of the Nazi fugitives were already safely under lock and key. For the occasion she had chosen to wear a pale green satin cocktail dress because she somehow sensed that it went well with her coloring. It was a particularly becoming style with a low cut bodice and a short full skirt that really showed off her figure. She had taken her hair out of the braid, and she and Lizabetta had spent some time with a curling iron working it into a sophisticated, assymetrical arrangement with a smooth crown, fluffy curls at the ends, and a puff of curly bangs at her forehead. A search of the upstairs rooms revealed that Liesl Heidegger had taken most of the good jewelry, but one magnificent diamond and emerald necklace and earring set had managed to remain behind. They looked fabulous on Carole, as did a diamond bracelet that had also been overlooked. 'Say what you will about Liesl Heidegger.', she reluctantly admitted as she inserted the posts into her earlobes, 'The miserable bitch has great taste in clothes!' Carole had taken the time to look just right. The process, and the results, were a source of surprising gratification to her, thanks to the influence of Heidegger's gas. Her nylon clad legs shimmered in the low angled sunlight, and the green satin high heeled pumps showed off her delicate turn of ankle to maximum effect. She had taken special care with her nails, which had somehow survived unscathed, and she was wearing a touch of Chanel No. 5, a fragrance that she found really pleasant. There is an inner glow women get from looking pretty, and knowing that they do, that was completely new to her; but the successes of the late afternoon had helped improve her disposition markedky. Earlier, on her way back downstairs to Major Gomez's temporary HQ, with Laraine at her side, she had stopped by the kitchen to put a proposition to her two friends, Liz and Terri. They had simply stayed on at the Hacienda when the Nazis left, having no place else to go, really. Their familys would not recognize them now, and would undoubtedly reject them even if the girls could make them believe their real identities. They both had been poor local farmers. Liz had been a forty two year old man, just about maximum life expectancy in that poverty stricken country. She had had a wife and three sons. Recent inquiries had assured her that her family should be alright. The boys had already taken over the day to day running of the family's farm, and fine strong handsome lads they were. Lizabetta was now about the same age as Carole. The gas had left her in her late teens. With her looking the way she did, and with the strong sexual urges imparted by the gas, she had no desire to cause mortal sin to tempt her boys, or herself. Besides, another mouth to feed from the fruits of that small farm, and a useless woman at that, might tip the delicate balance of survival in that harsh existence to the minus side. There was no place for her there any longer. Terri had lost her immediate family to disease two years earlier. There were two of her brothers still in the area but, in her revised situation, she had no desire to encounter them. She knew their attitudes toward women all too well. After all, they had once been her own. Aside from the fact that she had no interest in a sexual relationship with her own brothers, a prospect she regarded as inevitable if she were to try to join them, the entire range of life opportunity for a peasant woman in rural Guatemala was one that had no appeal to her at all. She had been trying to work her land alone, after she had buried her family, with little success. When the Germans came in and expanded their banana plantation they bought her land for what she had thought to be a remarkable sum, ...and they had given her a job. It had been like a gift from God; or so she thought. Three days later Doctor Heidegger had given her and Lizabetta a test shot of his gas, and had been as surprised as anyone when they turned into women. Both women were only too happy to accept Carole's offer to come to the U.S and work for her. There was nothing to keep them in Guatemala any longer. So, when their new boss suggested that they fix "something nice" for Major Gomez' dinner, they were only too glad to have an opportunity to demonstrate their recently acquired culinary skills. It had turned out to be a very productive dinner. Major Gomez had almost swallowed his mustache when Carole swept regally into the dining room from the kitchen, wearing a dazzling smile, and bearing a glass of chilled Dom Perignon "27" for the man who had been working so hard to catch those nasty Nazis. After that, things began to move with incredible speed. By seven that evening, -the Germans had continued to take their meals at northern European hours-, the table had been set, and Laraine and Emily had joined them. The girls were not to be outdone by Carole. They were dressed to the nines, and had each come to the meal escorted by the officers they had earlier selected to "motivate." Emily, the most recent victim of the gas, and the most thoroughly affected by it, had decided quite early that morning that Captain Juan Vasquez, a young, handsome, personable lad from a very wealthy family, was just the boy to help her try out her new equipment. Vasquez was in charge of communications, and was the first one to prove co-operative. Under Emily's subtle guidance he had done a lot to find the escaped Germans, and arrange the strategic roadblocks that had resulted in the capture of all the trucks and personnel. Emily was quite taken with the boy. The two of them were like high schoolers at the table; giggling, holding hands, gazing lovesick at each other. If it hadn't been so cute it might have made the others nauseous. Laraine had latched onto Captain Diego Guzman of the Air Force. He was dashing, charming, of wealthy family, as were the majority of Guatemala's officer corps, and not very bright. Laraine had had no trouble coaxing him to let her fly with him on a noon flight to search for signs of their quarry, and the boy had been only too happy to let the beautiful American senorita take the controls of his C-47 that afternoon. He seemed oblivious to the fact that their sighting of the C-46 at the AFC airport in Puerto Barrios, or finding the locations and directions of the truck convoys on two roads heading south, were no part of luck. Acting on clues obtained through Emily's work with Captain Vasquez, Laraine had carried out the only effective reconnaissance sweeps of the day. She had also managed to keep the Captain too entertained to notice her extensive flying skill and military knowledge. Carole, catching on rather later than her friends, soon had Major Gomez eating out of her hand, too. Perhaps it wasn't the way she would have done it in the old days; the standing close to let her perfume have it's effect, the subtle and frequent physical contact, -the gentle laying of her hand on his, the brush of her breasts against him as she thanked him for thinking of a proper order, the kiss at the finding of the plane, the whisper in his ear to get the Navy garrison at Puerto Barrios to quietly surround the fugitives there-, the flattery, the wheedling; but it really was effective when she got her beauty and charm focussed and rolling. She discovered that feminine persuasion and manipulation could be fun, too. She got a real emotional lift out of using her looks, and out of playing the subtle mental games that women have used for centuries to get what they wanted. It required her to re-examine her assets constantly, and work more indirectly and cerebrally. It was a stimultaing intellectual challenge. She wondered if it was a uniquely female ability because, in the past she had always used the direct approach with great success, and had been utterly dismayed when it had failed miserably, both with the authorities in Guatemala City the previous night, and again that morning with Major Gomez and his men. Close questioning of their prisoners by the Guatemalan troops, -she didn't want to think too much about what that actually entailed- , had led to the capture of many more Nazis in other locations. Descriptions of the principal figures were quickly distributed to all areas of the country, and several more leads were being actively pursued. Miguel Gomez, for his part, had belatedly discovered how charming this American woman could be. She had been thrilled when Guzman located the Nazi's plane. She had kissed him right in front of the courier who brought him the message about the capture of the truck convoys. Now, sitting at the table beside him, she had replaced the Nazis as the center of his attention. Not only was she easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but also her evident attraction to him and her enthusiastic ways of praising his handling of the developing situation at Puerto Barrios had raised his blood pressure considerably. At first she had been difficult, demanding, shrill, and moody, no doubt as a result of having to deal with her reluctant transformation. But, as the day went on she seemed to come to understand that he knew what he was doing, and her personality grew far more convivial. He had never known her when she was a man, and found it impossible to think of her as anything other than the beautiful and fascinating woman she was. At the dinner table, he watched her chatting happily with Captain Guzman and the dark haired American woman. She was so desireable, and so affectionate when she was happy, like now, that he really regretted not hitting it off with her earlier. She smelled wonderful, too. Carole had been sharing some of her aviation experiences with Captain Guzman. The Guatemalan flier was particularly interested in the dogfight of the night before. Both Von Schmuck and Carole were already legendary figures to him from their world famous exploits during the war. The chance to hear about the only meeting between these two aces from the victor of the contest was a thrill he would never forget. It no longer seemed to matter to him that Chuck Dennison was now a disturbingly beautiful woman. Of course, at first he had been very much repulsed and frightened by the tales of the Heidegger Gas but, as he had come to know Carole and her friends, particularly the charming Senorita Laraine Demille, he, too, had quickly, gallantly, and deliberately forgotten that they had ever been men. "..so you see, Captain,', Carole concluded, characteristically soft pedalling her own abilities, "it was much more a question of the innate superiority of the Dennison Dicombobulator than any real skill on my part. Laraine was invaluable in keeping me informed about Von Schmuck's location, heading, and speed, while the lightness of the control responses of my good old Sky Shark allowed me to compensate for my diminished physical strength far more effectively than my opponent could. She is a superb fighter pilot, to be sure. I just had a better plane,", she turned, and smiled proudly at Laraine. "..and a wonderful tactical advisor." "In fact; the whole idea of a second person in the cockpit, acting as a spotter and tactical advisor, worked so well for us that I'm going to recommend to the Navy and Air Corps that they seriously consider making all fighters of the future into two seat, combat team fought aircraft." She then turned to Gomez and leaned into his shoulder suggestively. "Speaking of tactical ability, Miguel...," she said smiling, eyes aglow, promise in every nuance of her body language, "...that was one of the cleverest things I've ever seen; isolating that mob at Puerto Barrios. How ever did you think of it?" He flinched slightly, and grew quite flushed "I..I..ah. Ah.. j, just knew that Commander Zubizaretta was in port ..a and ..ah it seemed only natural to bring him in to contain the Nazis until reinforcements arrive in the morning. It would have taken the nearest Army unit several hours to get there." His confidence was growing. "It's not that difficult to think of these details when you've had the training in military matters." At that point he realised something he had not thought of at the time. He wasn't a fool. And he was not a bad guy, really; just a product of the Latin culture with it's tradition of male superiority. He leaned over happily and gave Carole a kiss on the cheek. "Of course, if I remember rightly, my dear lady;", he said with real respect, "it was your inquiry about our Naval forces that gave me the idea to call Commander Zubizaretta in the first place." Carole was impressed. She had come to like Miguel a lot better as things had progressed. After a few subtle nudges from her he really had begun to press the search effectively. He resisted at first, but then he seemed to become aware that she had been "encouraging" him, and was willing to publicly acknowledge her assistance. He was a very cute guy, and he looked very sexy in his dress uniform. She continued to ponder her feelings toward Miguel. They were quite different from the way she had felt about Emil. This was nice. It was an excitement, a warmth, a physical attraction, a desire to be nice to a nice guy, a need to make him feel her gratitude. With Emil it had been much more intense. More heart, less head. These thoughts led to a wistful look over at Emily who was happily enjoying the attention of Juan Vasquez. She was easily the most beautiful of the three of them, and the most thoroughly feminine. While Carole knew that she still had a few rough edges, and Laraine's sense of humor was a little too earthy for true gentility, Emily was soft spoken, bright, graceful as a dancer, and completely at ease with her womanhood. * * * * * * * * * * * * Chapter Five Before dawn the day after retaking of Punta Gorda Carole was back in a more action oriented ensemble. What had begun the day as clean khaki jodhpurs were now quite dusty, and her white cotton blouse, darkened here and there with persperation, clung to her curves in the tropical heat. The now familiar and comfortable high heeled boots were starting to show some very un-ladylike wear. Her hair was rewoven into a thick single braid, this time more expertly done by the skilled hands of Lizabetta; and this time was partially hidden under a broad brimmed Panama hat to keep the sun from her delicate featues. Emil's old Walther P-38 pistol hung at her hip in it's leather holster. Miguel Gomez sat beside her in the open Lincoln Continental as it sped eastward towards Puerto Barrios and a showdown with the Nazis at the Amalgamated Fruit Company compound adjascent to the airport there. Three heavily armed U.S. Marines from the Embassy rode in the front seat while Colonel Hall sat on her other side dividing his attention between his men and the woman in the middle. The big Marine was in a quandry. Carole was an undeniably lovely woman. His body was almost automatically attracted to her. On the other hand, his mind was having real problems with the facts surrounding her womanhood. His initial reaction had been one of pure loathing. The whole idea of Heidegger's gas made his skin crawl. He had been partially won over that first night at the Embassy when she had conducted herself as a true professional. As she outlined the map of the Punta Gorda plantation, and discussed ideas on assaulting it he found himself grudgingly impressed and intrigued. They had been conversing for a couple of hours as the convoy rattled along the dusty road. She never complained about the heat, or the dust, or much of anything. On the other hand, she was a font of information about the baseball season, and showed a keen interest in, and knowledge of the game. He noted, however, that she packed a small valise with "nessesities", something he doubted that Chuck would have done. Behind their car three truckloads of soldiers from Miguel's command jostled along in the dust, to reinforce the Navy troops surrounding the Germans and their accomplices. It was not a very good position for the Nazis to be in. To the north, the Bay of Amatique was shallow water opening onto the Gulf of Honduras. Any vessels heading away would be easy to spot and stop, either by the two small, but powerful, gunboats of Commander Zubizaretta's flotilla, or by the P-51s that Captain Guzman and Laraine would be leading overhead to provide an added incentive for the Nazis to surrender. To the east of the Amalgamated Fruit Company's airstrip lay several miles of tilled banana fields before the ground gave way to deadly, disease- ridden, quicksand laden, poisonous reptile and alligator infested swamps that went on for miles before ending at a desolate, uninhabited beach on the gulf. To the south, after more impassable swamps, lay the Motagua River, wide and deadly, inhabited by alligators and piranhas, and crossed by no ferries or bridges. To the west, in the narrow stretch of land between Lake Izabel and the Motagua was the main road in or out of Puerto Barrios, the road Carole and the army were on at that moment; and one other road branching off northwestward across a bridge at the narrowest point of the lake toward San Benito and British Honduras. That road was blocked by a force of a hundred heavily armed soldiers waiting in ambush at that bridge. All the reports from the Navy commander at Puerto Barrios indicated that the Germans were all in the net, and that they seemed to be unaware that they had been surrounded. They were at the AFC facility on the east side of the city. Miguel, acting on the information extracted from the prisoners at Punta Gorda, estimated that the number of the opposition could be no higher than forty. No more than ten of those were still men. With three hundred Navy personnel, and the sixty soldiers he was bringing with him, the odds were more than eight to one in his favor. Surely that would be more than enough. They arrived in the town of Puerto Barrios a little after eight in the morning and found Commander Zubizaretta at a command post hastily set up in a peasant's shack about a half mile from the main gate of the AFC compound. Now that it was daylight the airport was clearly visible in the shimmering heat that was increasing by the minute. The view through Miguel's binoculars was even more distorted by the heat waves blasting up from the concrete road and runways, and from the corrugated steel sheeting that seemed to be AFCs preferred wall and roofing material. Carole could see three of the seven machine guns that the energetic naval officer had deployed around the compound, and the backs of about fifty of his men, arranged in two lines, in good cover in the heavy vegitation on the far banks of drainage ditches that completely surrounded the entire facility. Ernesto Zubizaretta was a tall, distinguished looking man in his mid fifties. His wide, ready smile, and a touch of gray hair at his temples only accentuated his resemblance to movie actor, Gilbert Roland. He was exaggeratedly courteous and respectful to Carole, a true gentleman. As if that weren't enough to get Carole's attention, he also went out of his way to include her in the briefings about the tactical situation, and to seek her opinions about possible actions to bring the thing to a successful conclusion. He had a steady, competent, confidence-inspiring air about him as he pointed out his troop dispositions to Miguel. Carole, even after a cursory review of his force dispositions, had to admit that, for a Navy man, he seemed to have a very good feel for a ground combat situation. All of his machine gun positions had interlocking fields of fire, and every exit, culvert, drainage ditch, and structure in the complex was covered by armed sailors. In a truck, carefully screened from view from the compound in a grove of trees just beside his field headquarters, he had set up his radio base, and was in touch with all of his detachments via walkie talkies. Off to the north, about a mile out in the gulf, drifted one of his gunboats, also in the communications net, ready to provide artillery support. His other gunboat sat ten miles further out, at the extreme range of it's single 5 inch gun, blocking the exit from the bay. Beyond the hidden ring of sailors, about a hundred yards behind the gate of the fenced-in banana processing facility, and to the left, sat a single aircraft hanger. The nose of Larry's C-46 protruded through it's doors, which had been closed as much as possible to try to conceal it. Beyond it was a row of low buildings which provided housing for American management personnel, and a large two story structure that had the control tower for the airstrip mounted on it's roof. It was in that building that the Germans seemed to be quartered. From time to time several of them, both men and women, all in civilian clothes, had been spotted outside the buil