It all really began the summer of 1929. On a dirt strip on the Arizona desert a young barnstormer and his middle-aged Navajo mechanic were thrown together with four others.

There was no way any of them could have known that their lives, connected that long ago hot summer day, would twist and come together years later.

Yet these average Americans, along with their countrymen, would face a battery of tests that would prove them some of America's best.

Baguio, Luzon
Philippine Islands

July, 1941

But there were stronger visions haunting him this evening. Stronger than the holy church, stronger than the archbishop's blessing. Dreams of hell and fire and of demons prodding him. Telling him to kill. He struggled with the question kill whom? before finally awakening.

George Bendetti sat up, dimly aware of the sweat pouring off his body. He didn't have to retrieve his watch from the bedside table to know he was already late for the party.

The Pines Hotel ballroom was decked out in twisted red, white, and blue paper streamers while a stern looking cardboard Uncle Sam joined the members of the combo who were elevated slightly above the diners by means of a sturdy wooden platform. The musicians had practiced for weeks and the result of their labor was evident as strains of "She's a Grand Old Flag" wafted throughout the cavernous room.

Miniature American flags were everywhere. Tables were scattered throughout the ballroom flanking the dance floor. On each was a metal holder with large white cards. There were no open tables.

Sky and Magda had little trouble finding Tom and Ellen Sullivan for General and Mrs. Douglas MacArthur were standing with them next to their table.

"General." Sky extended his hand to the American whom he had met on several occasions. MacArthur, over sixty years old, stood tall, his lean body impeccably clothed in a gray checked tropical suit with a white silk shirt. He had returned as a four star general from the United States Army three and a half years earlier and was now serving as Field Marshall for the Philippine Commonwealth. His work was cut out for him, building up the Philippine Army until it reached a total of four hundred thousand. The goal was a long way off but there was no question that the American military advisor was dedicated to the task at hand.

Sky bowed slightly before he introduced Jean MacArthur to Magda. The general's wife was a tiny little woman, younger than her husband. As she stood next to Ellen the two women looked as though they had been crafted from the same mold, for neither weighed over a hundred pounds.

"My pleasure," Jean MacArthur's Tennessee accent was apparent in her speech.

"Please excuse us, we must we going." The general said his good-byes quickly.

"Cordial as always," Sky muttered to Tom. The MacArthurs were not known for their partying ways and the fact that he had come at all was noteworthy.

"Probably off to a movie," Ellen said, for the MacArthur's penchant for movies was well known.

"Sky," Tom interjected. "Meet Lord and Lady Chesterfield."

Taking the outstretched hand and listening to the clipped British voice, Sky smiled as he thought of the irony of an Englishman attending an American Fourth of July party.

"My wife is an American." It was as though Chesterfield had read his mind.

Sky turned to Lady Chesterfield.

"We've also met. Hello Sky."

Berringer's heart stalled. Kate Matthews, Looking every bit as young and as fresh as the first time he had seen her in the Arizona desert years earlier, stood before him.

"Lady, Lord Chesterfield," his voice was hoarse, "Magda Masaryk."

"Well this is a treat," Francis Chesterfield turned to Magda. He pulled out a chair for the Czechoslovakian as the others followed suit. When they were all seated one chair stood conspicuously vacant.

"Tom was just telling me about your escape," Kate said to Magda. "Were you in Prague?"

Magda's shoulder length hair swung from side to side.

"Strakonice. I worked in the munitions factory there."

Frank raised his glass of red wine. "Then you were there during the trouble?"

"I left right after. I was fortunate." Her hazel eyes clouded and they were all silent for a moment for they had all heard of the trouble in the munitions factory in Strakonice.

The Czechoslovakian president and foreign minister had been summoned to a conference with Hitler in March of 1939. There, under threats of a Prague invasion President Hacha and Dr. Chalkovsky had signed the Statute of Protectorate which had incorporated Czechoslovakia into the Reich. Although the country had fallen without the threatened invasion, thousands of Czechs had fled across the border. Over thirty thousand alone had fought with Poland when that nation had been attacked by Germany. Close to another thousand Czech aviators had fought with the British at Dunkirk.

The Czechs, although fallen, were a resistant lot. Some seven months after being taken as a German vassal state they had celebrated the anniversary of the founding of their Republic. To celebrate, many of them took the day off from work and proudly wore the national colors. Many were arrested by the Germans and tortured. The demonstrations were even larger the next day and finally the Protector demanded they abandon the colors and wear a badge showing national solidarity. The badges were dutifully passed out with the initials N.S., nardoni sourvcenstvi for national solidarity. The Czechs, ever resourceful, had promptly turned the badge upside down so they read S.N. Among themselves they connected these initials with smert nemcum or death to Germans.

Since then demonstrations and sabotage from the Czech slaves continued. Trains were derailed, cannons exploded, guns misfired and airplanes fell apart in mid-air. Sabotage in the factories was high and in an effort to curb it the Germans had arrested sixty workers of the munitions factory at Strakonice. They had all been executed.

"To a free Czechoslovakia," Chesterfield held his glass high as every glass at the table was raised in tribute.

It started as a whisper, tickling Ellen's soul. She tried to brush it away but it only became more urgent.

We should have left.

"To Britain, may she keep the Nazis at bay!" Magda Masaryk's toast shattered the spell as the Czech paid homage to the valiant island nation struggling to survive nightly bombings by the German Luftwaffe.

Ellen shuddered before raising her glass. She'd heard the stories of the British sending their children out of the cities to strangers on farms, places where their offspring would be safe from the bombs. The thought of entrusting her own two boys to people she did not know made her stomach roil.

The toasts continued as Kate Chesterfield saluted France, which had been occupied by the Nazis for over a year.

George Bendetti, his officer's uniform a sharp contrast to the white tropical jackets and pants the rest of the men wore, rushed in seating himself in the only vacant chair.

"Sorry I'm late, Tom." He fidgeted with the small silver cross attached to his starched clerical collar.

"No problem," Tom Sullivan shrugged, "I believe you know everyone here. Except for Sky's friend, Magda."

"Father."

The priest took her hand, giving her a scant glance as he reached for the glass of wine that had just been poured. He drank eagerly from it.

"But most of all to Russia." Sky Berringer continued the toasting.

"Good riddance." George set down his glass, refusing to drink to Germany's latest victim who had been invaded just weeks before. Although Russia had been a German ally, her vast resources of grain, iron and coal had proven irresistible to the covetous invaders.

"You've got to be an idiot not to drink to that." Sky's fingers were taut about the stem of his glass.

The priest stiffened but said nothing.

"We're on the brink of war," Berringer continued, "this will give us time to arm ourselves. At least the Russians will keep Hitler busy for a while longer."

"We're still a neutral nation," George sniffed, returning to his wine now that the danger of a disagreeable toast was past.

A Filipino waiter began serving dinner.

"We're selling defense bonds back home and running air raid black out tests in New Jersey. Roosevelt has frozen all Axis assets and those of the occupied countries. Do you honestly believe we're going to be neutral much longer?" Sky was incredulous.

"We're not ready for another war. I don't care what the president wants."

"I don't think we'll have a choice," Tom cut in.

Ellen shook her head. The war talk made her uneasy and only fed the voice inside that kept insisting we should have left. What was wrong with her? She thought. It must be the wine.

"Well I think we all agree that you can't do business with Hitler," Ellen offered, pleased that Douglas Miller's new book had already arrived from the States. Everyone was reading it. "Why don't we talk about something else?"

"Like religion?" Sky grinned and stared at the priest.

"Oh no! Say the selective service," she offered playfully. "Something unprovocative."

The Selective Service Act had become law the previous fall. It was the first draft induction bill in the history of the United States, legislating that all young men between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-five register for the service. While the act had banned American draftees from serving overseas, President Roosevelt had initiated a campaign in June to drop that provision.

Even the rich and famous were serving their country. Both the young Henry Ford II and his younger brother Benson had been called up, as well as the pro golfer Ed "Porky" Oliver and the playwright Sidney Kingsley. Jimmy Stewart, found to be ten pounds underweight by the Los Angeles draft board, had gorged himself up to standard army weight. In January of 1941 Winthrop Rockefeller, grandson of the great John D., had been inducted into the army. a feat recorded by all of the major newspapers and newsreel photographers. Few were exempt. few wanted to be.

George laughed. "You're right. Ellen. I don't know what it is about your friend here. We can't agree on anything."

The priest's longing glances in Kate Chesterfield's direction had not been lost on the pilot. "Unfortunately that's not true, Father."

"George, I must say, I think you're wrong too," said Tom, turning to the clergyman. "America's got to get into this war."

"On the contrary," the priest argued. "We don't have to do anything. No one is challenging our borders, clamoring to take our cities."

Tom looked at the Chesterfields, embarrassed by the insensitivity of the priest's remarks. "And our allies?" His freckles were standing out more than normal.

George shrugged. "I'm sorry, sure I am. Kate, Frank, you know that. But it's not our war. Why should our young men die at Dunkirk?" He cut into his roast beef seemingly unaware of the pall he was casting on all of them.

"Or Cavite?" Kate raised an eyebrow. Cavite was the site of the only naval yard in the Philippines.

"It hasn't come to that." He argued.

"Yet." Tom shifted in his seat, fully aware of the pressure Ellen's leg was playing against his left knee under the table. There would be hell to pay later but he couldn't help himself. "You're sounding like a goddamed isolationist!"

"I am. Lindbergh's got the right idea about this thing. It's just a pity more people don't realize it."

Charles Lindbergh, the famous aviator, had formed the America First Committee as a vehicle for the isolationist viewpoint.

"I'm afraid I don't think much of your hero, sir." Francis Chesterfield's eyes grew dark. Lindbergh, in an April address to thirty thousand Americans attending a New York rally, had condemned Britain for encouraging nations to fight with no hope of victory. Roosevelt had roundly condemned the aviator's speech and Lindy had resigned his commission as a colonel in the reserves.

"Nor I," Tom chimed in, "I'm in White's corner."

William Allen White, a Kansas newspaper publisher, had started his own committee, The Committee to Defend America by Aiding the Allies. Like the Lindbergh group, White's supporters were working hard to bring the American public around to their point of view.

"Well at least you both agree to stronger continental defenses," Sky offered.

"And you," Kate asked, "Sky, which side are you on?"

Berringer grinned, his dimples cutting deeply into both sides of his cheeks, just touching the dark moustache flecked with gray. "Neither."

"That's unconscionable. You've got to be on one or the other." Bendetti insisted on needling him.

"Is that the way your world works, Father? All black or all white? Thanks, but I'll sit this one out."

"Why Sky," Ellen said quietly, "that doesn't seem like you at all. It's so, so..."

"Un-American," the priest offered.

Sky bristled only slightly. He had heard all of the arguments before as most of the world news coming into the Philippines was bleak.

"I don't think so at all. Our involvement in the war is inevitable. Whether one is an isolationist or an interventionist isn't going to make any difference once we're in."

"Then if I follow your position correctly," Lord Chesterfield puffed to start his after dinner pipe, "you feel the Axis powers will directly attack America?"

Bendetti didn't wait for Sky's answer. "Somehow the sound of German storm troopers attacking Manhattan just doesn't ring true."

"No," Sky agreed.

"Then where?" Tom was interested in all of the war rumors and assessments.

"Here."

"You mean the Philippines?" Magda leaned closer, afraid to miss a word.

Ellen felt like vomiting.

"Or Guam. Or Pearl. Or Midway. But somewhere in the South Pacific. We're next. We've got to be."

"We're a long way from Germany," the priest challenged him.

"But not so far from Japan," Sky continued logically. "She can't afford to have us sitting here on the flank of her southern sea lanes. The Australian meat and grain are vital to England."

"Yes." Chesterfield nodded in agreement.

"Japan needs to take us along with Singapore to protect the Dutch East Indies."

"They're not hers," Tom reminded him.

"Yet. We'll see her in French Indo-China before long. We're a threat, there's no doubt about it. Japan knows we're not out here alone, that the Pacific Fleet in Honolulu would come to our aid in any prolonged conflict."

"Maybe we should have gone home after all," Ellen said, somehow relieved that the quiet voice that had been plaguing her for weeks was now out in the open.

"We'll be all right." Tom reached for her hand.

Ellen was still troubled. In February the United States had ordered all military dependents home, now only the civilian wives and children remained.

"What's the word at Benguet, Tom?" Sky asked.

Sullivan, chief engineer for the Benguet Consolidated Mining Company, was privy to a lot of corporate speculation.

"We've seen a lot of changes over there in the past year. They've taken down all the signs written in English and closed the cabarets. Hell, in their lust for baseball they've even invented their own phrase for 'kill the umpire'".

"They're not the most sophisticated people," Bendetti's disdain was apparent. "They smile when they're unhappy and write backwards."

"Don't underestimate them," Sky cautioned. "They've got six million men in the service, all veterans. They've been fighting in China for over four years now."

"But the army here is getting beefed up. That ought to account for something." Ellen suggested.

"Oh yes. MacArthur's a grand general, there's no doubt about it," Sky said. "But look what he's got to work with! Ten thousand United States army regulars and a ragtag Filipino army of Igorots, Moros and Tagalogs. They're untrained and untested."

"I thought you were supposed to be helping with that," Tom chided. Berringer had taken a job with the Filipino Army as a civilian aircraft instructor. "Sky's assigned to the Philippine Military Academy here," Tom said by way of explanation to the Chesterfields.

"That's the one patterned after West Point, isn't it?" Frank asked,

Sky nodded.

"I wasn't aware there was an air force here," Chesterfield continued.

"We'll have one next month. Eventually we'll end up with the 19th and 27th Bombardment groups," Sky explained, his eyes steady on the priest. Although Bendetti's orders posted him to the 27th Bombardment group until they arrived he had been assigned to the Academy on a temporary basis,

"The Academy's the general's baby," Tom added. "And Sky's."

Berringer grinned. "Can't deny it." He thought for a minute finally remembering where he had heard the Chesterfield name. "The speedboats!" He snapped his fingers. "That's it. MacArthur's boats."

"Yes, the Thornycraft PT's," Chesterfield replied.

"Frank's in shipbuilding, old sport. Sorry I thought you knew that," Tom apologized.

Douglas MacArthur's plan for the neutrality of the Philippine archipelago depended on a fleet of PT boats armed with torpedoes. The general called them quick, or "Q" boats. While Washington had thought his plan insane, they had eventually gone along with parts of it.

"How many did we finally end up with?" Sky asked.

"Three. We delivered them last December."

"Out of what was it, fifty?"

Frank nodded. "I'm afraid we've had to cancel the order, what with our being at war and all. Dreadful disappointment for the general. I'll be going back to London later this summer and I hope to resurrect something for your islands."

"That's it!" Ellen tapped her hands lightly against the table. "I'm tired of all of this gloomy war talk. Sky, will you dance with me?"

Without waiting for his answer the tiny blonde stood and extended her arm to the handsome aviator.

"You're looking wonderful, Ellen," Sky held her firmly as they glided into a smooth waltz. "How are Doc and Pete?"

"Driving me crazy, but fine. Doc's still into his crazy experiments," Ellen spoke fondly of her two children. "We had a party the other night and in the middle of it he walked through with a hammer and a saw, casually suggesting that he was off to build a lightning rod."

Sky laughed. The Sullivan boys charmed all who met them. Bright and quick they were not easily intimidated by their parent's friends.

"Of course I suggested that his invention could wait but then he insisted on debating me for another ten minutes."

They danced silently for a few minutes before she started talking again. "You know, Sky, all this talk scares the hell out of me. When Tom suggested I take the boys home I argued with him. But now, I think we should all go."

"Maybe you're right, Ellen. I think we're in for some rough water ahead."

"Tom won't leave. He says the Benguet people will tell us when it's no longer safe to stay. It is complicated, isn't it?" She laughed nervously. "But it's just not the same. This used to be such a nice place, now it's though...as though there's a pox on the whole thing."

"I wouldn't worry about it just yet."

"When the service wives left it was like geese heading south for the winter. Eery."

They were quiet for a moment before Ellen once again broke the spell.

"You and Charlie are coming for Doc's birthday next month, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't miss it for anything."

As they walked back to the table Sky was disappointed to see that Lord and Lady Chesterfield were missing.

"Kate and Frank said to tell you goodnight. They had to drive back to Manila." There was a smug note in Bendetti's voice. Sky stared at him.

Bendetti's full, pouting lips had always suggested inappropriate excesses for a priest. His blond hair, now streaked with gray, had always been combed a little too carefully for a man whose vows did not include vanity. The boyish features had coarsened, giving him the appearance of a bloated, middle-aged man. The hardened cast to his face was unflattering even in the soft light.

"I too am tired, Sky." Magda turned to the Sullivans. "Thank you both for a wonderful time."

Walking through the lobby of the Pines Hotel, Magda was drawn to a glass display case. There, inside, was a Red Cross appeal for funds.

"It may happen to YOU. You may benefit from Red Cross help," she whispered as she read the poster, her eyes fixed on a man handing out relief packages. An uncontrollable chill ran through her body as she sagged against Sky.

"I see pictures, awful pictures," her hands were pressing hard against her temples as though the pressure would erase what she saw in her mind. "Sky, we are all going to need their help."

As though taken with a sudden illness, the vibrant redhead was now limp and it took her concentrated effort to walk across the lobby and out the door.

Sky was silent as he helped her into the car. He had heard her talk of pictures before.