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Jane Stalwart and the Lost World
A Stalwart Universe
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 pothole 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 nyloncovered hose was covering a pair of gams that put Betty Grable’s milliondollar legs to shame. He swerved to avoid another pothole.
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 widowmaker, ma’am.” His eyes flickered down to her chest with cleavage even more impressive than her legs.
“I’m aware of that, Captain,” she replied, her red lipstickcovered lips turning into a dazzling smile. Her eyes were hidden behind darkframed Wilsonite sunglasses.
Another jeep was waiting beside the plane. The driver stood at ease beside the passenger door. Watching the approaching jeep were an officer and a woman. The woman was dressed as a civilian in a blue dress, belted at the waist. She held a hand on her head holding down a widebrimmed hat 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 black tresses which showed no signs of being windswept as she placed her cap on her head. The General watched her approaching, standing at attention and saluting him. “General Harris, sir.”
“Nice of you to join us, Miss Stalwart,” he replied, looking at her with a strange combination of lust and disapproval.
“Major, sir.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s Major Stalwart.”
The General raised an 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 gave the aircraft a look over. It was a B26A “Marauder” bomber, named the Blackbird with a crow’s head painted near the nose. One of the black crewmen was perched on the tail painting it red. The pilot and copilot 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 weeks, some of my trainees should be ready.”
“I’m afraid we may not have a few weeks, General,” replied Jane.
“No one asked my opinion,” said the blonde, speaking for the first time.
Jane turned her attention to the woman. She had a thin build and a perfect 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 distaste for the black crewmen. “And you are?”
“Forgive me,” said the General. “Lady Jane Stalwart, this is Doctor Lisa Smith, the geologist you requested.”
“She’s 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… his 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 uptodate 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 needtoknow basis, General,” said Jane, watching the heavyset 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. She looked midtwenties, more than half Professor Powell’s age, but then he’d had a reputation for dating his students. “I’m afraid I don’t have much field experience and I’m not sure I’ll be much help, especially if what you said in your letter was true, but I wanted to do this for Jim and my country, of course.”
Jane nodded. “If 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. Be prepared for any contingencies, Doctor.”
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 thumbsup 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 was hot and sweating. He was a 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.
“They call me the Blackbird, ma’am.” 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 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 as I slowly head towards extinction.”
“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 B26 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, thought Jane. He was a dark African black, but Jane could see the color visibly draining from his face. He was staring directly at her, not even taking a sneak peek 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 ******* thigh, the glimpse of white flesh above her stocking, and the fleshcolored 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 you’re 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, ******** 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, airman,” 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 flight instructor 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. Jane’s adventures had been featured in Life and National Geographic. She was better known back home than here in the States, but she had her following.
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 bareshouldered in a white corselet 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 had been dropped on Germany in April of 1941, a red lipstick kiss outline beside Hitler’s name.
Her pinup was nicknamed, The Brit with the Tits.
Along the aircraft’s interior were a couple of other pinups, Rita Hayworth and Lena Horne. Some blankets and sleeping bags were lined up along the wall. “Good, you brought sleeping gear.”
“Had to ma’am,” said Crowe. “There’s no barracks for coloreds at Alamogordo.” He turned and in a commanding voice yelled, “Everyone lineup for our mission briefing.” The crew gathered around Jane with Lisa standing behind her looking with distaste at the black men. “First up Major, is Lt Lee Archer, my copilot.” Archer nodded at her. He was older than Crowe, maybe midforties, wore a wedding ring, and had a large pot belly though his arms appeared quite muscular. “Lt. Chester Burton, our navigator and radio operator.” Burton was dark black, bald, with very African features. He appeared in his twenties. “Burton will also be the photographer you requested.”
“This is for you, Lieutenant,” she said, handing him a folder with their flight plan.
“The Amazon?” said Burton with surprise, leafing through it. The airmen looked at each other.
“Lt. Julius Calhoun, Ma’am,” said Calhoun, saluting Jane. “Nose gunner and bombardier, but since you’re not going to need a nose gunner and we only have a few bombs onboard, you could have let me go fight the Nazis.” He was dark brown, short, and rather skinny, but he appeared to have a lot of spunk.
“Don’t be so sure, Lt. Calhoun,” said Jane.
Jim Crowe took over again. “The enlisted men are Langston Cain, and Leroy Burke, he’s our groups ***, and you’ve already had the pleasure of embarrassing Mr. Bullock.”
“All shucks, I wasn’t that embarrassed,” said Jimmy Bullock. “Do you want me to take it down, Ma’am?”
“Of course, not Mr. Bullock,” she replied. “Remind me to sign it for you.” There were some chuckles from the crowd as Bullock’s black cheeks turned darker.
“Burke is our engineer. He can just about tinker anything,” said Crowe, pointing towards the oldest of the group.
Leroy Burke was dark black, husky, and looked in his sixties. He wasn’t wearing his crew hat and his bald pate was glistening with sweat. White hair circled his bald spot and he sported a bushy white mustache. “I’ll rig up a privacy curtain for you ladies,” he said.
“That won’t be necess…”
“That would be necessary,” said Lisa interrupting Jane. “Thank you.”
“Cain is a gunner.”
Langston Cain was brownskinned, and tall with a thin build. He was bent over an open box he’d been snooping in. “We may not have a full payload of bombs, but we’ve got some really big guns.” He reached in and pulled out a huge rifle.
“Those are elephant guns,” said Jane.
“We hunting elephants?” asked Calhoun.
“There aren’t any elephants in South America,” said Bullock.
“Then why do we need elephant guns?” asked Cain, examining the large heavy caliber rifle.”
“Why, for the dinosaurs, of course, Mr. Cain,” said Jane.
**********
It took a while for the chattering to stop as the men looked at each other in disbelief. Finally, a perplexed Bullock looked over at her. “But dinosaurs are extinct, Ma’am. I done read me every book on dinosaurs I could get my hands on.”
“Not to bust your chops, ma’am,” said Cain, “but the birthday boy ain’t no fathead. He’s got the book smarts.”
“My chops remain unbusted, Mr. Cain.” Jane looked around, smiling and nodding at Jimmy Bullock. “Birthday boy?”
“Nineteen today, ma’am,” said Jimmy Bullock.
Jane smiled, stood up straight and swept the room with her eyes. “Young Mr. Bullock is mostly correct, but there are dinosaurs that have survived.” There were gasps and smirks of disbelief from the mostly disbelieving men. “In 1912, one of my countrymen, Professor George Edward Challenger was approached by the ******** of an explorer Maple White who had been missing in the Amazon jungle for years. Only one of White’s Indian guides returned and in his possession was the journal of Maple White. White was looking for a means of entry onto a giant plateau deep in the jungle when he disappeared. Included in this journal were sketches of what appear to be pterodactyls sitting on rock ledges high on the plateau.”
“A sketch isn’t exactly this kind of proof,” said Burton, holding up his camera.
“Challenger put together an expedition to Maple White land accompanied by White’s ******** Paula, one Professor Summerlee, Ed Malone, a reporter for the Daily Gazette, and Lord John Roxton. They were able to find their way onto the plateau and encountered multiple species of dinosaurs.”
“What kind of dinosaurs?” asked Bullock. He was wideeyed and listening raptly.
“Iguanodons, stegosauruses, an allosaur, and even extinct species of mammals.” Jane had the attention of all the men. “They also aided a native Indian tribe in defeating a band of brutish apemen before finding their way off the plateau and returning home.”
“Did they have proof?” Burke held his camera up again.
“Some say yes and some say no. Challenger presented their proof before the Zoological Institute in London, a baby pterodactyl. It promptly broke free and flew out of a roof window. Many members of the institute refused to believe they had seen anything, others claimed they were hypnotized, and still others swear they saw a living breathing pterosaur.”
“And you believe the latter?” asked Crowe.
“Yes, because one of the latter was my father, Lord John Stalwart. I knew Professor Challenger and though I found him a bit eccentric, I’ve never known him to be a liar. The Challenger expedition also returned with something else.” Jane paused for dramatic effect. “They had collected bunches of clay balls which when cracked open, held diamonds. The men all became quite rich.” The men who hadn’t been interested in the dinosaurs were suddenly interested.
“So, we’re collecting diamonds for the war effort?” asked Crowe, leaning against the side of the plane with his arms folded.
“No.” Jane took a deep breath. “What I am about to tell you is a state secret known only to the governments of a few countries. It is for your ears only and you are all hereby sworn to silence. If you can’t keep quiet, leave now.” None of the men moved to leave. Jane smiled. “Challenger didn’t tell the entire . He noted in a secret journal that during the evenings in Maple White Land, the northeast of this Lost World glowed green, similar to an aurora borealis effect. Challenger hypothesized that the green glow was coming from a large concentration of Vril.”
“Of what?” asked Cain.
“Vril.” Jane paused. “Vril is… Doctor Smith, why don’t you take this?”
Lisa stepped forward. “My name is Lisa Smith, Doctor Smith to all of you. My doctorates are in geology and chemistry. Vril is an element, but also a latent source of energy. It can be mastered by force of will and shaped by the user’s desires. It’s a natural element forming deep underground, but most of the Vril I’m aware of came to Earth as meteorites and were shaped into powerful artifacts by ancient cultures. It can heal wounds, cure illnesses, or destroy cities. It exists in all forms of matter, solid, liquid, or gas. Liquid Vril is raw and can be shaped through force of will into items of great power. It can enhance physical features, waken dormant powers of the mind, and possibly even power this plane without ever needing to refuel. If it wasn’t so dangerous, it could be of great benefit to all mankind.”
“You believe this Major Stalwart?” asked Bullock.
Jane took a deep breath. “I do. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. You’re seeing it with your own eyes.”
“How so?” asked Crowe.
“You men probably haven’t noticed, but I have a rather large bosom.” There was silence for a few seconds then some chuckles and nervous glances between some of the men. “They are a result of multiple contacts that I have had with Vril. The first was when I fell into a Vrilinfused well as a teenager. I fell in a rather scrawny fifteenyearold and emerged with more feminine curves, larger breasts, and an IQ in the genius range, and I never forget anything I see or read. Bathing in a second Vril pool grew my breasts even further. That was ten years ago and to the best of my knowledge, I haven’t aged nor have I gained even a pound of weight except for a Vril artifact increasing my bosom and rear end on another occasion.” Someone gave a long low whistle in the group. “I could tell you more, but the less you know the better. The Nazis, the Japs, and even the Soviets are aware of Vril and actively seeking deposits for their own purposes. Our mission is to take a geological survey of the area, determine if any or how much Vril is located in Maple White Land, and return with a minimum of two drops of liquid Vril. Doctor Smith’s mentor had devised a leadbased container that should hold the raw Vril without it being warped by our minds.”
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