Jane Stalwart begins

Here's part of the first chapter of the new Jane Stalwart story along with some inspirational artwork.

Jane Stalwart and the Lost World

Copyright 2020 by Stormbringer

Chapter One: The Flight of the Red Tails

Alamogordo Army Air Field, Alamogordo New Mexico, 1944

The jeep swerved to avoid a pot hole in the dirt road, the driver taking another opportunity to glance down at his passenger’s legs. Her uniform skirt was short and slit up the side. The slit tantalized him with glimpses of the tops of her stockings and a garter strap. Looking down, her nylon covered hose was covering a pair of gams that put Betty Grable’s million-dollar legs to shame. He swerved to avoid another pot hole

The jeep bumped as they left the dirt road and began riding over the paved runway toward the waiting plane. He leaned over, turning his head. “They call it the widow-maker, ma’am.” His eyes flickered down to her chest and cleavage even more impressive than her legs.

“I’m aware of that, Captain,” she replied, her red lipstick covered lips turning up into a dazzling smile.

Her eyes were hidden behind dark framed Wilsonite sunglasses.

Another jeep was waiting beside the plane. The driver stood at ease beside the passenger door.

Watching the approaching jeep was an officer and a woman. The woman was dressed as a civilian in a blue dress, belted at the waist. She had one hand up holding a wide brimmed hat on her head to keep it from blowing off. Long blonde hair was waving behind her in the strong breeze.

The jeep pulled up next to the plane. “I’ll get the door for you, ma’am,” said the driver, rushing to get out.

“No need, Captain,” said his passenger, scooting her legs up underneath her and deftly jumping over the side of the jeep. She shook out her raven dark tresses which showed no signs of being windswept as she placed her cap on her head. The General watched her approach, standing at attention and saluting him.

“General Harris, sir.”

“Nice of you to join us, Miss Stalwart,” he replied, looking at her both lustfully and disapprovingly.

“Major, sir.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s Major Stalwart.”

The General raised and eyebrow and shook his head. “Negroes and women,” he muttered, giving a

“Harrumph,” that would have made any of his British counterparts proud.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“What kind of special operation utilizes negroes and women, Miss… Major Stalwart.”

“One of vital importance to the war effort, sir.” She looked the plane over. It was a B26-A “Marauder”

bomber. One of the black crew was perched on the tail painting it red. The pilot and co-pilot were in the cockpit doing some flight checks. “So, these are your famous black airmen?”

“I wouldn’t call them famous, Major, but the negroes training at the Tuskegee Army Air Field in Alabama are performing… adequately.”

“May I ask why he’s painting the tail red?”

“In protest maybe? Or perhaps to honor the other coloreds fighting in Italy? They’ve taken to painting the tails of their P47 Thunderbolts red. This crew wasn’t too pleased when they found out they were flying to Texas and not Europe.” The General turned to examine the plane. “Are you sure, you don’t mind a negro crew for this mission? In a few months some of my trainees should be ready.”

“I don’t mind and I’m afraid there’s no time, General,” replied Jane.

“Well no one asked me,” said the blonde for the first time.

Jane turned her attention on the woman. She had a thin build, and a near hourglass shape. Her eyes were turned on the black men with distaste. She turned towards Jane, her eyes were as bright and blue as Jane’s own. She would have been lovely if her face wasn’t twisted up with such disdain for the black men. “And you are?”

“Forgive me,” said the General. “Lady Jane Stalwart, this is Doctor Lisa Smith, the geologist you requested.”

“Not the one I requested, sir. Where’s Professor Powell?”

Dr. Smith’s expression drooped. “I’m afraid Professor Powell recently passed. I was his associate professor and… fiancé.” She reached into a small purse and took out a handkerchief to dab at her eyes.

Jane reached out and touched the woman’s shoulder. “My condolences. The Professor was an associate of mine and a good man, Miss Smith.”

“Thank you, and it’s Doctor Smith.” She straightened up and tucked the handkerchief back into her purse. “I can assure you Lady Jane, that I’m as up to date on our subject matter as the Professor was. I also brought the lead containers that you requested.”

“And what exactly is this subject matter?” interrupted the General.

“I’m afraid that’s on a need to know basis, General,” said Jane, watching the heavy-set man’s cheeks flush with anger. He harrumphed again.

Lisa smiled, taking pleasure in the General’s indignation. Jane had been correct, her smile brought out her beauty. “I’m afraid I’m not sure I’ll be much help in the field, especially if what you said in your letter was true, but I wanted to do this for Jim and for my country, of course.”

Jane nodded. “It all goes according to plan, the airmen get us there and back and you never have to leave the plane. I’ll do all the leg work. I didn’t exactly come down with the last rain shower. I’m quite

experienced in jungle survival and also experienced enough to know that nothing ever goes according to plan.”

Lisa nodded. “I’ll see to my equipment.” She turned and walked away. Jane’s eyes flickered down her back, over her posterior and down her legs. She wasn’t wearing hose, but had painted a line down the back of her legs.

“CROWE!” The General bellowed, motioning for the pilot to come down and join them.

The pilot gave him a thumbs up and disappeared from the cockpit. He came climbing out of the nose wheel entrance a moment later. The black man looked quite dashing in his flight jacket, though he clearly was hot and sweating. He was fine specimen of a man, big, strong, and handsome, with a Clark Gable mustache. He didn’t attempt to hide his glance at her bosom which was bold for a negro. Like many pilots, he was arrogant and full of swagger. He also made her pussy quiver.

“Captain Crowe, this is Major Jane Stalwart on loan to us from the British Special Operations Executive,”

said Harris.

“James Crowe, ma’am,” he said, saluting her.

“Captain,” she answered saluting back.

His eyes flickered down to her breasts again before quickly moving back up to her face. “If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, have we met?”

“I don’t believe so, Captain.”

“Hmm, apologies, I just swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

“No problem, Captain. Has my gear been loaded?”

“They’re finishing now, Major.” Captain Crowe gestured towards the bottom of the plane where some men were lifting some boxes up through the bomb bay doors. “When would you like to leave?”

“Immediately. I’d like to get back to the war as soon as possible.”

Jim Crowe straightened up and saluted. “Me too, Ma’am.”

“And I’d like to get this war over,” interjected General Harris. “Then we can all go back to normal, Major.

You can go back to being a homemaker and Captain Crowe and his boys can go back to picking cotton.”

“I’ve never been a homemaker, General,” said Jane.

“And I’ve never picked cotton, sir,” said Jim.

“What is your profession, Captain?” asked Jane.

“Mechanic, ma’am. With some boxing on the side.” Jim saluted Jane again. “I’ll prepare us for takeoff.”

He turned towards Harris and saluted. “General.”

Harris nodded and watched Crowe walking over to his men where he started bellowing at them to prepare for takeoff. “Sometimes, I feel like a dinosaur watching the world pass me by.”

“There’s an ancient Chinese curse, General,” said Jane, watching Crowe. “May you live in interesting times. These are interesting times, sir.”

“That they are, Major.” He turned and saluted her.

“Your briefcase, ma’am,” said Jane’s driver, handing her the case.

“Thank you.”

“Sorry, the B-26 doesn’t generally use a stair for boarding,” said Harris.

“Not an issue, General.” Jane walked towards the plane. Doctor Smith was being helped aboard through the nose wheel’s well. One of the airmen was pulling himself up through the waist window. The crewman that had been painting the tail red, jumped off the wing and landed in front of Jane. He stared at her in stunned disbelief for a moment. He barely looked eighteen. Just a kid, though Jane. He was a dark African black, but Jane could see the color visibly drain from his face. He was staring directly at her, not even taking a sneak peak down at her breasts. He turned away, trying to beat her inside the plane.

“Ladies first, Bullock,” said Crowe, grabbing the airman’s shoulder.

“But sir,” said the young black man, nodding towards Jane and then towards the plane.

“Stand down, airman.”

Jane walked past them and reached up for the waist window. Her skirt rode up, all the male eyes watching her, staring down at the exposed thigh, the glimpse of white flesh above her stocking and the flesh colored garter holding it up. There was a tear running down one side of her hose. “Shoot,” said Jane, coming back down on her feet and examining the tear.

“I hope your as concerned about your mission and the war effort as you are your stockings, Miss Stalwart,” said General Harris.

Jane stepped out of her shoes and while all the men were watching her, she pulled her skirt up and unhooked her nylons from the garter strap. She rolled her nylons down, exposing her shapely legs, pulling them off her feet. She bunched her hose up and tossed it at Harris, catching him under the nose.

He grabbed her stockings and stared at them. “For the war effort,” said Jane.

She stood on her bare toes and pulled herself up through the waist window as skillfully as an Olympic gymnast.

**********

Jane turned and leaned down as Crowe handed her shoes up through the window. She turned. Bullock was scrambling up the nose wheel well and racing for the far wall. “I’ve already seen it, airmen,” she told him.

Another black man had been staring at her rear while she leaned out the window. He looked at her frowned, then over at Bullock. Suddenly, he threw back his head and laughed.

Bullock took his hat off and wrung it between his hands. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I didn’t know, you’d be our passenger. I just thought you were so purty and all, ma’am. I traded some beer to a British instructor we had for it and…”

“At ease Bullock. I’m not offended.”

“HA!” bellowed a laugh. “That’s where I’ve seen you before,” said Jim Crowe coming up beside her. He stared down at the pinup taped to the wall. “Wow Major, you’re somewhat famous.”

“Somewhat,” replied Jane with a grin. Jane’s adventures had been featured in Life and National Geographic. She was better known back home then here in the states, but she had her following elsewhere.

The pinup was of Jane sitting sidesaddle on a bomb. She was wearing her green uniform skirt, pulled back nearly to her knickers. The tops of her stockings and her garter were visible. Her uniform top was off, leaving her bare shouldered in a white corselette that revealed a lot of her cleavage. Remember what you’re fighting for, was written across the top. Happy Birthday, Adolph, was written on the bomb.

The bomb was real and had been dropped on Germany in April of 1941.

Her pinup was nicknamed, The Brit with the Tits.