The Mary Jane Mission

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Under the searing heat of the afternoon sun, two armed military policemen lingered by a navy jeep exchanging glances. For the last two hours they had been guarding a spot along a gravel roadway inside the fenced-in compound at Agana Naval Air Base. Flanking both sides of the road stretched solid jungle growth that was nearly as tall as a six-foot man. Jutting through the growth, ninety feet directly behind them, stood a silvery B-29 Superfortress bomber, her tail section dominating the tropical landscape like an old windmill on a deserted prairie farm.

The taller guard broke the silence, leaning the back of his legs against the jeep’s tires, the machine gun resting by his leg. “Man, sure the hell is hot today!”

The other guard nodded in agreement, looking to the bomber. “Still can’t figure it. Why are we guarding that thing, anyway? Who’s going to steal it?”

“Ah, nobody, of course. The captain told us to not let anyone near it. That’s all.”

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