An Okinawan Affair

By Herb Blanchard

Navy Seabee Brad Burgess landed on the island of Okinawa with no regrets and few expectations. He knew a chapter of his life had closed and a new and different life was beginning.

Brad easily made friends with all he met and worked with the Okinawans as well as the American civilians who worked for the Army. He discovered the bar girls were not only friendly, but were caring women who through no fault of their own didn't quite fit into Okinawan society.

After two short affairs with bar girls, Brad met Tomako Tomanaga an older Okinawan lady who managed a coffee house which was off limits to the GIs. Tomi's parents died during the invasion and she had several bad experiences growing up on war-torn Okinawa. When they first met, Brad and Tomi became close friends but not lovers though Brad stayed overnight in her apartment several times. With Vietnam looming on the horizon, concerned about Brad leaving the island and her, Tomi was forced to admit to herself, and finally to Brad, that they were very much in love and their destinies were connected to each other.

Brad had honchoed several construction projects for the Navy and became involved with the US Army's 'People to People' construction projects which gave him a reputation in construction and leadership. With an increase in rank and a successful Seabee career ahead, he reenlisted going stateside then to Vietnam leaving Tomi on Okinawa. Tomi was pregnant but before she could write to Brad with the good news, disaster struck in Vietnam.

An Okinawan Affair is a multi-cultural/historical novel of about 88,000 words telling of the plights of the Okinawan people and how their lives were under the rule of the US military following WWII.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Herb Blanchard
• Release date: Jan 19, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458170781

Herb Blanchard

Herb Blanchard is retired and living in the Puget Sound area of Washington State. He is a Vietnam Era Seabee veteran who spent several years stationed on Okinawa and made many trips to the island during his two tours in Vietnam. He followed his six year Seabee tour with an Air Force hitch of four years as a KC135 tanker crew chief flying to and from Southeast Asia and flying combat missions over Vietnam and off the coast of China. He took every opportunity to return to Okinawa be a two day lay-over or a 120 day TDY. Herb made and had many friends American and Okinawan on the island. He knew the island and its people well and enjoyed every day he spent there.

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An Okinawan Affair

by

Herb Blanchard

An Okinawan Affair

by Herb Blanchard

Copyright 2011 Herb Blanchard

Smashword Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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BOOK DESCRIPTION

AN OKINAWAN AFFAIR was written partly as a memoir and partly to tell about the people of Okinawa and what had happened on the island before repatriation back to Japan. And about the Americans who were stationed there in the military or chose to live on the island as civilians.

Most of the characters are profiles of real people or composites of several people the author knew on the island. Many of the incidents portrayed are based on actual occurrences that the author was involved in, or had direct knowledge of or recollection of them.

DEDICATION

AN OKINAWAN AFFAIR is dedicated to all the people, Americans and Okinawan, living and dead, that I knew and loved,. They contributed to the writing of the book whether they know it or not. Remember me or not.

I thank each and every one of them.

ONE

He had just stuffed several barely readable, blue mimeograph copies of his orders into his new brown leather AWOL bag. The orders read: EON3 BRADFORD NMN BURGESS IS TO REPORT TO THE TREASURE ISLAND RECEIVING STATION NO LATER THAN 2400 HOURS ON 03 JANUARY 1964 FOR AIR TRANSPORTATION TO NAF NAHA, OKINAWA FOR SHORE DUTY. It was already the second day of the new year in 1964 and Equipment Operator, (N for heavy) Bradford (No Middle Name) Burgess was on his way to the Treasure Island Naval transit station sitting in the middle of San Francisco Bay to await a plane ride to the Japanese island of Okinawa. There he could stay for up to three years enjoying the soft tropical breezes and company of the island's easy going people.

Maybe I'm making a big mistake. He thought as he dropped his AWOL bag on the floor next to the front door and started back through the living room.

Brad didn't hear her come up behind him, but the acrid smell of wool hot from an iron and a whisper of her scent floating gently past his nose sent a shiver up the middle of his back.

I'm going to miss you, Brad. She spoke softly.

He knew she didn't want one of her three children or her husband, Brad’s half brother, to hear. They had been communicating in soft undertones meant only for each other during most of his 30 day leave.

I feel very close to you. Sally went on in her soft voice. Closer than I've felt to anyone for a long time. It made it very easy for me to talk to you during the last few days.

Maybe I shouldn't go, Sally. I could give these orders away and stay with the Battalion at Port Hueneme (Waa-nee-me).

He turned to face his sister-in-law. Sally was a tall brunette who at that moment was looking extremely vulnerable, yet very seductive in her shapeless chenille robe.

She carefully laid Brad’s freshly pressed Navy dress jumper across the back of an overstuffed living room chair before stepping closer to him.

You have been trying to get those orders for over a year, Brad. You should go. I'll be fine.

She was 32, (6 years older than Brad’s 26), and stood three inches taller. During the past few months they exchanged letters, each more intimate than the last. And with each letter, Brad felt the years separating them diminishing. Sally became younger and more vulnerable.

Her heavy winter robe was pulled tight emphasizing Sally's full breasts and hips. Brad drew a deep, shaky breath as he looked down the length of her fully covered body and remembered what she had looked like the day before when she had stepped out of her bath and stood watching him for several seconds before taking the heavy, warm bath towel Brad held out to her. His hands had shook slightly as he allowed his gaze to travel down the length of her statuesque form before coming back up to her full, pendulous, breasts.

You had better get dressed. She spoke softly, a little bit breathlessly as if she was also remembering those intimate moments while moving a step closer to him.

Without actually touching each other, Brad’s mind let him feel the physical sensation of her bare body pressing against him. He wanted to take her in his arms for one last time. A dark thought was passing through his mind. She’s about to end whatever might have/could have, been between us.

Sally raised her right arm and laid the back of her hand on his right cheek, slowly stroking it.

Bob will be ready to go in a minute.

With half a smile she added, You know how your brother hates to be kept waiting.

She tried to laugh, but it faded into the soft smile she had bestowed on him so many times during the last few days before she hurriedly turned away as tears slipped from the corners of her pretty brown eyes.

As she walked away she spoke in her scolding voice, and Brad knew she had been reading his eyes. She used that tone whenever she had made up her mind to get her way. Go, Brad. Get on the airplane and go.

She turned away pulling her robe tighter under her crossed arms. Brad also felt the same sudden chill that Sally felt.

When she started up the stairs, towards the bedroom she shared with his half brother, the soft movement of her hips under the robe brought a renewed stirring of Brad’s unfulfilled desire for her.

At that moment he didn't realize it but a chapter of his life had just closed. A chapter he would never be able to reopen or go back to. Nor did he know a fresh new chapter was about to start. A chapter which would bring him a love like none he ever imagined could exist. But there would also be sorrow, and that too is part of life.

TWO

The journey into Brad Burgess’ new life started on January 5, 1964 when with over 200 other GIs and dependents he was jammed into the cabin of a government chartered Pan Am DC8. From the ramp of Travis Air Force Base they were bound for the island of Okinawa with intermediate stops across the Pacific.

At Honolulu International, their first stop, the passengers were given a short break which Brad took advantage of to limber up his cramped leg muscles. He walked around the terminal before climbing the stairs to the observation deck on the terminal's roof. He watched the DC8 being refueled and the members of a fresh flight crew establishing themselves on the flight deck. Several new passengers were standing around at the gate waiting to board the aircraft. Amongst them was a young, possibly military dependent wife with a two year old boy and a very young baby.

Brad felt his good luck had run out when the young mother holding her almost new baby, dropped into the seat next to him. Quietly and gently she spoke to and guide her fair haired son onto the aisle seat next to her. Brad had staked a claim on these seats coming out of CONUS when they were empty so he wasn't particularly happy about having to share them with a couple of screaming dependent brats.

Within minutes the flight crew had the DC8 roaring down the runway and another leg of Brad’s journey started as they chased the late afternoon sun across the Pacific Ocean.

The DC8 was still climbing out and had started a turn away from Diamond Head as Brad watched the tropical green of Oahu slip from the restricted view of the aircraft window to be replaced by the ever changing color flow of the Pacific's greens and blues. He heard the soft chime of a stewardess call button and felt the young mother stirring in her seat next to him. Ignoring her, he was deliberately trying to avoid any connection to her and the inherent problems of traveling with small children. His gut told him that they were about to encroach further into his tiny sphere of space.

The murmur of feminine voices slid across the void between our seats. Good, the stewardess is helping her and can deal with it.

Brad forced himself not to turn and look in their direction as a strange mixture of baby smell and an unknown, but what he was sure was an exotic and expensive perfume, wafted across the void and intrigued his nose.

The touch on his left forearm was gentle. Her hand was so tiny his first thought was that the two year old boy had touched him.

She spoke hesitantly in a very soft voice. Excuse me? Could you help me, please?

Her eyes were the deep warm blue of a cloudless mid-summer sky and they enveloped his whole being. She needed neither the honey blond hair that hung down in mild disarray across her small pert nose, nor the soft smile which was flitting across her dusty rose lips to make Brad fall in love with her. Just her eyes did that. He was completely lost, and totally in love even after he caught a glimpse of the engagement ring that had to be at least a carat and a half of diamonds backed by a yellow gold wedding band that was at least a sixteenth of an inch thick and twice as wide and studded with more, but smaller diamonds.

Could you hold the baby for a minute while I tend to her brother? I'd like to get him fed and settled. Maybe he'll give me a break and take a nap if his belly is full.

Brad guessed that the baby in her arms was barely two months old. With previous niece and nephew experience he knew what this simple request would involve.

Can you hang on for a second while I take off my jumper?

Good thinking. She laughed and while she looked towards the stewardess for reassurance the pretty lady shifted the baby on her arm.

We'll make it. Won't we Gus? She said to the baby.

Gus? Brad asked noticing at the same time the stewardess making her break towards the far aft end of the aircraft.

Her middle name is Augusta after my grammy. With a smile she added, and I'm afraid she's going to be stuck with it. Though she will probably hate us for it. Her brother can say Gus, but he has problems with Carole. That's her first name. He keeps coming out with some weird variation of Carl which doesn't fit at all. The poor baby is a Gus, not a Carl. And definitely not a Carlos or Carlito. Her laugh was open and fun.

This lady doesn't have many secrets. Everything is out front and spoken aloud.

I'm Sandra Rockwell. Sandy, that's what my friends call me. My husband is stationed at Camp Kue.

Sandy instantly noticed Brad’s look of ignorance about Camp Kue.

That's the Army hospital on Okinawa. He's not a doctor, he's an engineer. Officer-in-Charge of the plant. You know, the stuff like boilers and air conditioning.

It feels good knowing she cares enough to let me off the hook without making me out a fool. And I knew she was a dependent.

With her head tilted a just little to the left, Sandy continued to look at Brad with a slightly questioning expression on her beautiful face.

Oh. Brad felt the heat of his embarrassment creep up his neck. My name is Burgess. Brad Burgess. I’m going to NAF Naha. That’s Naval Facility at Naha, Okinawa.

Here, I'll take her. She has a great sense of humor even if she is an officer’s wife.

Glad to meet you Brad Burgess. And thank you. I know that you and Gus will get along just fine.

Her voice had the softness of a gentle summer breeze across a meadow of soft green grass. Brad started to think that he had a good chance to enjoy the remainder of the trip after all, with Gus and her mother for company.

A quick refueling stop and two poor souls were deplaned on the very tiny dot in the Pacific Ocean called Wake Island.

A few more quiet and extremely boring hours brought their final stop within reach. Both Gus and her brother had fallen asleep shortly after they took off from Wake Island. Several times Brad offered to take the boy to the rest room, or held Gus because he wanted to, not because Sandy asked him to do it. She was quite self sufficient and only asked for help when she really needed it. He knew that he couldn't complain and surely didn't feel imposed upon.

Gus was sound asleep in the crook of his right elbow. Her mom had taken her brother somewhere towards the aft end of the aircraft.

Brad had joined MCB 10 in November of 1962 just as 10 was returning from an 8 month tour at Camp Kinser, the Seabee base on the island of Okinawa. For over a year he had been listening to the salty Seabees of Port Hueneme tell their sea stories about the attributes of the bars and women of Okinawa. Finally, fourteen months later, and 25,000 feet over the East China Sea, he was about to get his first look of this tropical paradise.

The melodic chime made Brad glance up as the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign came on. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sandy slip into her seat next to him, and he turned to watch her fasten her son's seat belt. Gus stirred in his arms. Brad looked down into her deep blue eyes and took a minute to enjoy her tiny face forming a trusting smile.

She looks like her mom.

Brad felt a tinge of regret as he realized that in a few minutes he was going to have to give Gus back to her mother.

The high pitched whine of hydraulic motors deep within the big jet's bowels startled him out of his reverie. The mechanical sounds brought Brad back to the confined world of the DC8’s cramped passenger cabin. He was lethargic from the long flight and for the last couple of hours with his friend Gus in his arms, he had been drowsing in a temporary suspension of time. The DC8's huge flaps were still forcing their way down into the slipstream under the wings when another hydraulic pump start up. The aircraft shuddered in protest as the main landing gears slammed into place with a series of loud clunks.

The aircraft banked into a shallow left turn and started to descend with a sudden loss of engine noise. It was several seconds before Brad realized that they weren't about to crash into the East China Sea, the pilot had just reduced the power on all four engines. He looked out the tiny cabin window and down across the sloping upper surface of the silvery wing. Off the left wing tip he could see twinkling city lights and a scattering of yellowish headlights threading their way along a north-south highway. He looked forward, ahead of the leading edge of the wing picking out the highway and the line of northbound headlights which merged with and disappeared amongst the distinctive lineup of airport runway lights.

The aircraft rolled level and over the leading edge of the wing he made out a the jagged line of green and white breakers with their glowing phosphorescent marking the collision of the East China Sea with Okinawa's ancient coral reef.

Gus stirred slightly in the security of Brad’s right elbow. He watched her tiny face and its innocent expression of peace never changed as the Kadena Air Force Base runway approach lights flashed under the DC8's belly and they landed with a thump and the quick, but repeated screeching of tires on dry concrete as first the right landing gear touched down followed in a fraction of a second by the left set of tires. The sudden surge of power from the aircraft's engines slowed the aircraft and pulled Brad forward against his lap belt.

Thank you, Brad. I want you to meet my husband before you go to Naha. You have to come to dinner so I can repay you for your help. Besides, Gus will want to see you again.

Brad just smiled and softly placed Gus in Sandy's arms. He silently said his good-byes. He didn’t really think that Sandy’s officer husband would appreciate his good looking wife inviting some stray Seabee enlisted man to dinner. Especially an E-4 she had picked up on an airplane over the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

He let himself get caught in the slow moving gaggle of wives and noisy kids knowing they would help make his departure easier and less complicated.

Gus will understand. He thought as he felt a familiar small hand take his left wrist.

Are you sneaking away without claiming your reward, Sailor?

She knew he didn't like to be called a sailor. And Brad knew he was being had. Sandy was alone. The happy expression of anticipation gone from her young face.

I'm sorry, but my husband couldn't make it. He sent a driver to pick us up. I really wanted him to meet you so we could thank you properly, Brad. But this will just have to do.

Sandy's arms around his neck were surprisingly strong as she stood on tiptoes and placed her soft, dusty rose lips fully against his cheek.

Sandy's arms were still around his neck when he looked over the top of her head and saw the Army buck sergeant who had been sent to pickup Sandy and her children. He was watching with obvious distaste. Brad thought he disliked the idea of the wife of one of his fine, outstanding officers smooching a strange sailor in the middle of the air terminal. His distaste quickly changed to embarrassment when he saw that Brad was also watching him. Realizing how pathetic the dogface was as he gingerly held a sleepy Gus like she was a crate of eggs about to spill their yolks all over him. And her brother hanging from his right pant leg like a bewildered puppy.

Thank you, Brad. Gus will miss you.

At least I care about you guys. Brad thought to himself with a bit of arrogance as he contemplated what could make a man miss his wife's arrival to a far off land after being separated for over six months, Especially a lady as sexy as Sandy was.

He kept walking towards the counter where the Navy ATCO was waiting to check him aboard Okinawa.

THREE

January 7, 1964, Tuesday. It was about zero six thirty hours and the eastern horizon was starting to take on an intense orange glow when Brad walked by the snack bar and started out of the terminal at Kadena AFB. The smell of frying bacon and hash browns should have reminded him that he hadn't had a solid meal for over twenty hours but he wasn't hungry.

With just a touch of disappointment he realized that since he had departed Travis on January 5 January 6, his birthday, was missing. Except for a few fleeting minutes somewhere between 2300 hours on January 5, and 2400 hours on January 6, it was gone.

Vaporized? Maybe not vaporized, just gone. I'd settle for gone.

Am I still 26, or did I age to 27?

Do I have to count those missing hours? Maybe I was asleep. If I was, do they count?

He argued with himself for a couple more minutes before deciding since Okinawa was a day ahead of the United States it didn't matter if he consciously observed the time or not because he was in fact 27.

I lost an argument with myself. That's pretty bad.

The predawn air was still and sultry on his face when he walked out the front door of the air terminal in his hot, wool dress blues. He dumped his sea bag on the edge of the concrete sidewalk and sank down on it to wait for his ride to the Naha Naval Air Facility 15 miles down island. The Navy ATCO had assured Brad that it would be arriving momentarily.

He sat on his sea bag and watched the sky continue to get brighter with a multitude of reds and oranges resembling a Pacific Northwest forest fire in the dark of the moon. Brad was getting hotter and wetter with sweat as every new inch of sun crested the horizon. A cool bead of sweat running down between his shoulder blades tickled and he shrugged to let his damp skivvie shirt suck it up.

A light breeze finally sprang up to announce the full arrival of the sub-tropical sun. Although it made breathing easier the breeze did little to cool him off.

Brad checked his watch again and realized that he had been sitting there for only about 20 minutes. The heat, lack of sleep and an overall grungy and unwashed feeling dominated his mind and made him more irritable as the minutes dragged on. He was trying to think about how good a cool shower and clean sheets would feel, and couldn't really push the thoughts of his physical discomfort away. If anything, the thoughts made him more aware of how really nasty he was.

He heard a bus before it came into view, but immediately lost interest when he realized that according to the ATCO it was coming from the wrong direction and once in view it was a blue Air Force bus.

The squealing protest of a combination of dry, unlubricated steel and rust brought his attention back to the bus as its passenger door swung open. Brad turned in time to see a set of bare legs flash beneath a mid-calf length white skirt when she stepped off the bus. The skirt had a narrow dark blue ribbon sewed around the hem and was so heavily starched he was sure it would break when it bumped against the door of the bus.

By American standards they were short legs, but they were beautiful. Each well developed muscle was firm and clearly defined to create two shapely masterpieces. On her small feet the girl wore flat-heeled slippers made of a soft black leather.

As if he had x-ray vision a bit of silken thigh flashed through Brad’s imagination when the petite doll-girl stepped down onto the sidewalk. She hesitated for a sliver of time before starting along the sidewalk toward him.

Brad Burgess wasn’t very tall, about 5' 7" in stocking feet weighing in at a hard 126 pounds, but as the girl approached he began to realize just how big he was on the island of Okinawa. He studied her as she drew nearer. The girl wasn't quite five feet tall and weighed less than ninety pounds. Those ninety pounds were beautifully arranged. Her breasts weren't large, but under the tight fitting bodice of her starched dress they were perfectly symmetrical and in absolute proportion to the rest of her compact body. Involuntarily he found himself looking up into the most beautiful almond shaped, dark brown eyes he had ever seen. Outlined with shiny black, thick lashes and eyebrows, her eyes grabbed and captured Brad in their depths.

She looks about 15. But there is a maturity about her face and body. He thought continuing to watch the small girl. For him, time stopped momentarily. White, even teeth sparkled in a friendly smile when her eyes released their hold on him an iota of a second before she stepped around his sea bag. He watched her hurry toward the heavy glass doors of the terminal's waiting room.

She isn't a girl. That is ALL woman!

He watched in admiration when she walked through the glass doors and across the terminal floor. The white skirt stretched tightly across her beautifully formed backside and emphasized her gracefully feminine walk.

Oh, my God, I'm in love. Brad heard himself say.

Hey! You the Seabee going to Naha?

He felt the heat of embarrassment flash across his cheeks and knew his ears were glowing red when he heard the sound of a deep male voice speaking American. He was so engrossed in the girl that Brad hadn't heard the ugly gray, Navy six pac pull up to the curb in front of the Air Force bus. The driver was hollering through his open window, and Brad was certain he had heard his vocal declaration of love for the beautiful girl.

Yeah, I am. Where in hell have you been?

Sleeping, man. I've had the duty for the last two nights. The driver spoke slowly and matter-of-factly. Brad couldn't hear even a hint of aggression in the driver's voice when he stepped up to the side of the six pac. Through the open window he could see that the driver was dressed in tailor made, but very wrinkled, dungarees. Not only had the dungarees and short sleeved chambray shirt been worked in, they looked as if they had been slept in. His light brown hair hung down over his forehead partially obscuring his flattened fighter's nose and flashing green eyes. And he needed a haircut.

Larry-san! Hey you, Luber-boy!

The driver and Brad both turned towards the high pitched voice.

She was walking very fast, almost trotting towards them from the Air Force bus. Dressed in the same uniform as the first petite girl, but she was most decidedly not petite. She was tall and square. At least two inches taller than Brad and twenty pounds heavier, but the graceful motion of hands and hips were there. Her round face had small pock