Waggoners Gap

Prologue-1

Prologue

2200 Hours

October 21, 1943

Jackson [Air] Strip

Regimental Headquarters

503d Parachute Infantry Regiment (PIR)

Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea (PNG)

In Papua New Guinea, it rains every day for nine months. Then, the monsoons begin.

—Local adage.

On a damp night in late October, Anne Calvert-Smith hung on for dear life as her lover raced his weather-beaten Jeep up the unimproved track above her hospital.

Anne’s lover was Colonel Kevin Kincaid, the controversial commander of the elite American paratroopers who’d come up from Queensland to fight the j**s. In September, his regiment had made its first combat jump on a small airport in the Markham Valley, far to the north on the other side of the rugged Owen Stanley Mountains.

Weeks later, the paratroopers had returned to their lager at Jackson Strip, seven miles from Port Moresby. After refitting, they established their headquarters near the Australian hospital where Anne had been working for several months.

Anne was off-duty. Away from the hospital and the oppressing atmosphere of the orthopedics ward, she wore her beautiful auburn hair loose and undone. As she and Kevin tore up the hill, her long and elegant tresses fluttered behind her like an unruly dark red pennant. The wind rushing across her body and through her hair felt refreshing and a bit erotic.

Anne Calvert-Smith, a nurse with the Royal Australian Army Nursing Service (RAANS), was fifth-generation Aussie. The Calverts first came to Australia on a British penal ship after the Yorkshire West Riding Revolt of 1820. Convicted of treason and being lower-class radicals, the Crown sentenced them to the penal colony on Van Diemen’s Land, which became Tasmania. They earned their freedom after seven years, moving to the new free colony of Victoria.

Nurse Calvert-Smith grew up in Sydney, the second oldest of five children in a working-class family. After her father lost his job in the Great Depression that lasted throughout the 1930s, the family faced the humiliation of poverty and hunger. When the Nazis invaded Poland in October of 1939, the Commonwealth interrupted the economic downturn and ramped up their military readiness to rally to Britain’s call.

In early 1940, Anne married her childhood sweetheart, the handsome and charming David Smith. They tied the knot at a small chapel in Bondi Beach, where they honeymooned before he shipped out to fight the Germans in North Africa.

Australian Army Command posted David as a sapper to the 20th Infantry Brigade of the Australian Imperial Force on the Egyptian border with Libya. In short order, David and his mates squared off with the Italians and Germans.

After less than a week in combat, David died defending the Libyan town of Tobruk from the armored forces of the Afrika Korps, commanded by General Erwin Rommel—the infamous Desert Fox.

In September of 1941, grief stricken—but not wanting to remain idle with a war in progress—the young widow used David’s death benefit to finish the nursing program that she’d begun two years earlier at a hospital in Sydney. After graduation, Anne joined the RAANS.

In January 1943, the Service transferred Anne to their field hospital at Jackson Strip, which they had named after a gallant Australian fighter pilot, “Old John” Jackson, who’d been shot down dog fighting with Jap Zeros over Port Moresby in April 1942.

Over the last ten months, Nurse Calvert-Smith had seen the worst that the Aussie Diggers had endured in the wretched battles with the Japanese on the northern slopes of the Owen Stanley Mountains.

During her tour, Anne had survived several Japanese air raids, 14-hour days, seven-day weeks, every communicable disease imaginable, flying and biting insects the size of birds, venomous snakes, hairy spiders, monsoonal storms, moldy rations, cheeky patients, randy soldiers, and the ravages of drinking American hooch—which the Yanks called jungle juice. By the southern hemispheric spring of 1943, Anne was an old hand in PNG. She lived one day at a time.

Like all nurses, Anne could not resist the opportunity to cure some illness, mend a fractured limb, bolster low morale, or fix whatever was broken in the scarred bodies or wounded psyches of the allied soldiers around her. She had a weakness for stray cats, cute puppies, good scotch whiskey—and lately—this arrogant and flawed American colonel. Tonight, with his crazy drivin’ and heavy drinkin’, he’s doing his best to put us both in the intensive care ward of my hospital, Anne thought as the couple sped up the trail.

At the end of the track, Col. Kevin Kincaid pulled the Jeep into the tree-lined alcove on the edge of the gravel pit. The narrow road had become Lover’s Lane. It was the one place on the Strip where they could find privacy.

Anne thought Kincaid was handsome. Due to his rank and position, he could pinch a Jeep for his personal use any time he wanted. Kincaid used—some said misused—his authority to obtain this privacy with Anne on a dozen occasions since the American combat jump into Markham Valley.

Not that anyone blamed him. Anne was a beautiful woman. She had always been a good girl and a proper wife back in Australia. After David’s death, she’d remained chaste. Lately, her life had taken a new direction. During some air raid, my luck might run out. I might never have another chance at love. Since I’m stuck in this god-forsaken mess, I might as well take up with this crazy Yank, Anne thought

Anne had loved sharing herself with David, and now that he was gone and she could die any minute, she saw no reason to deny herself physical pleasure. Here in the rain forest, in the leeward shadow of the Owen Stanley Mountains in the midst of a worldwide conflict, she’d become that rare woman of every man’s fantasy: the classy lady in the parlor and the lusty wench in the bedroom.

Anne didn’t like everything about Kevin, but she was drawn to his bad-boy attitude. This evening, Anne was randy. Kevin had never failed to take her over the edge. The trips in his Jeep aren’t the only wild rides that we’ve shared, Anne thought. And—if the gossip at the hospital is true—there’s another wild ride coming.

She’d heard the rumors of the American Inspector General’s inquiry into the allegations of command dereliction and abuse in the airborne regiment. I don’t care what the Americans think of Kevin. He’s my man. She was loyal. That was the end of the debate. Nothing brought out her claws like a threat to something dear to her.

After Kevin turned off the Jeep’s engine, he turned to his right and fished around for the bottle of Jack Daniels. It’s a damn site better than jungle juice, but this whiskey from Tennessee is a bit rough for my taste, Anne concluded as she watched Kevin take a hefty swig from the bottle. But it’s real whiskey, isn’t it? I might as well help Kevin finish what’s left.

The crazy jaunt along the ridgeline had left Anne disheveled. Her hair was wind blown. The hem of her white smock had ridden high on her thighs, exposing the tops of her stockings. Kevin delighted in her appearance.

In a perfect world, the two lovers would be sipping a dram of single-malt scotch while reclining on an eiderdown mattress in a cool mountain retreat. In the real world of Jackson Strip, Anne sat in the Jeep and drank directly from Kevin’s bottle.

Passing the bottle back and forth, the two lovers cuddled on the small single seat on the rider’s side in the front of the battered Jeep. Anne stroked and caressed Kevin’s arms and legs with increasing urgency. “C’mon, Kevin, I’ve been waitin’ all week, haven’t I?” Anne pleaded, impatient for the lovemaking.

Looking at Anne, Kevin thought, No doubt about it. Anne’s remarkable. She’s the best piece of ass I’ve ever had. It’s really too bad that we’ve come to the end. A deeply tortured soul, Kincaid had never made an emotional connection with a lover—or any other human being.

Kevin had grown up in southern Illinois, the only child of a successful grain merchant in Cairo. He’d graduated from the Military Academy at West Point in 1926 in the bottom third of his class. Until just before the war, he’d risen no higher in rank than first lieutenant.

Kevin had struggled for more than 15 years to make ends meet in an army that paid him little and offered him no advancement prospects. He had languished until the Second World War provided him with the miraculous opportunity to become a paratrooper and the regimental commander of some of the finest soldiers in the world.

Over the last 14 months, Kincaid had squandered his good fortune in a most disturbing manner. He’d grown—for reasons that he could not articulate—to despise the men of his regiment. In response to their commander’s excesses, his lack of judgment, and his disdain for them, the paratroopers of the 503d detested their colonel right back.

Earlier in the day, Kincaid had received notice that the Sixth Army Inspector General would recommend that he be relieved of his command. If General Krueger followed the IG’s advice, Kevin’s military career would be ruined.

After the IG departed Jackson Strip, Kincaid called a conference of the 503d’s most senior officers. He intended to break the news of his imminent relief. Once the three lieutenant colonels arrived at his tent, Kevin couldn’t bear to tell them about the IG’s recommendation.

Instead, in a moment that the attendees later recalled as surrealistic, Kincaid broke out a bottle of Jack Daniels and poured drinks for his subordinates. Over the next hour, the four men drank whiskey and chatted amicably in the manner of professional soldiers.

After dismissing his staff, Kincaid continued to drink. He’d been working on his third bottle when he drove up to Anne’s tent to pick her up for their date. By the time that the couple reached the top of the ridgeline, Colonel Kincaid was as drunk as Nurse Calvert-Smith had ever seen him.

Kevin initiated the s****l dance between them almost immediately after he finished the whiskey. Anne liked more foreplay, but tonight she was ready to get down to business. Besides, Anne couldn’t be sure how the alcohol would impact on Kevin’s performance. We can make love another time. Tonight, I just want to screw his bleedin’ brains out, she thought as she pulled the hem of skirt up to her narrow waist.

A half an hour later, satisfied from some very good s*x, Anne sat on Kevin’s lap, facing him with the Yank’s softening manhood still imbedded in her. As she tried to regain her composure, she wrapped her long arms around his broad shoulders. She rested her forehead against his sweaty chest. The s*x wasn’t pretty, but it was damn good, Anne decided.

“Well, love, next time we’ll go a wee bit slower. But I have to admit that this was pretty decent,” Anne said, enjoying the moment while nuzzling against Kevin’s shoulder and trying to regulate her still ragged breathing.

“There’s not going to be a next time,” Kevin said, his voice cold as ice.

The brutal message startled Anne. She pulled her face from Kincaid’s chest. She turned her head and looked into his eyes. What she saw caused her to shiver. “What do mean, love?”

“Anne, there’s not going to be a next time. I mean it. Tonight will be our last little rendezvous.”

“Well, don’t I have a say in this? Do you think that I’m going to let you toy with me?”

“Neither you nor anybody else in this godforsaken place has any say in this decision. It’s my choice and I’ll answer to the devil for it!” Kevin screamed, showing emotion for the first time.

As Kevin stared into Anne’s eyes, his right hand swept up in a wide arch, brushing aside her left arm. It continued until his right hand came to rest in the small space between their two laps. For the first time that night Anne saw the Colt .45 caliber pistol. Kevin had c****d the hammer and his finger rested on the trigger.

“Kevin, what’re you doing? Be careful love! You could hurt yourself or shoot me!”