Cave City, Calaveras County
California, United States of America
December 8th, 1939
‘Sweetie, are you done with the sandwiches?’ he shouted as he threw the backpacks and the mountain boots into the trunk of his Ford Deuce Coupe. The girl was in the kitchen of their rented bungalow. For his leave, they had been planning to go into the mountains and explore some “unknown” cave for the day. That was what
they planned,
he on the other hand was planning to achieve a nice combo of seclusion and excitement that could potentially achieve any number of very pleasant outcomes. He tossed in a six pack in an ice bag too. He would never be one to underestimate the importance of some social lubricant for success, like just a little bit of alcohol.
Sandy came out of the bungalow with a little aluminium lunch box in her left hand. Under her stout jacket, she was wearing a tartan flannel shirt with a generous amount of unfastened buttons and blue denim pants that shoved off her long legs spectacularly, even with rough mountain boots on her feet. Her gold-brown hair was loose and flowed over her shoulders, while an impish smile played with her full lips and giant brown eyes.
‘Yes sir, Captain, Sir!’ she shouted, performing what she considered a crisp military salute.
‘All right, let’s go then, shall we?’ he said, not believing his luck. Immediately, fate spoiled his fun. The phone rang.
A deep frown immediately appeared on her forehead. ‘Do you really have to take that?’
‘Don’t worry baby, I’m sure it’s nothing’, he said, hurrying back into the bungalow to pick up the phone. He didn’t believe his own words though. Only the base had his number. Since he was on leave, the most likely reason for the call – barring some family emergency, which hardly was something to hope for – was a cancelling of the leave. But possibly, it might not be urgent enough to spoil the day. He lifted the receiver from the ringing phone at the night table.
‘Yes?’
‘Captain William Rogers, US Army Air Corps?’
‘Speaking.’
‘Sir, this Corporal Crawford from camp administration, 70th Pursuit Squadron. You’re hereby informed that all leaves have been cancelled effective immediately. We’re being redeployed to San Francisco. You’re ordered to report there ASAP.’
‘What? What the hell happened?!’ the Captain replied, suddenly forgetting every last thing about sandwiches, caves and even lovely Sandy.
‘It’s the Pan-Asians, Sir. Apparently they’ve attacked Pearl Harbour with a carrier fleet. Sir, it’s looking like we’re at war, although we’ve received no official declaration of war yet.’
He couldn’t make head or tails of that. ‘Pearl? But the fleet’s at Manila!’
‘Yes Sir. They’re pasting Hickam Field though. I hear they all but wiped out our air power there with the first surprise strike. Not more than a couple of Mohawks ever got airborne, and they didn’t last long against those new Mitsubishi fighters we’ve been hearing about.’
‘But… why… what are they trying to accomplish with this? We’ll just move in new planes, and the damage to the port can hardly be THAT hard to repair.’
‘Sir, it seems that… they’re landing troops.’
‘Oh. All right. I guess… I’ll see you in San Francisco then, Crawford. Bye.’
He walked out of the bungalow in a daze. Sandy immediately understood from his face that something was wrong.
‘Oh shit, I knew it! We’re not going, are we? Buck, why the Hell did you have to pick up that phone?’ Her disappointment made her voice whiny.
‘It’s war, baby.’ There was no point in beating around the bush with it.
‘What? Have we declared war on Hitler?’
‘No. The Pan-Asian Empire has launched a surprise attack against Pearl Harbour. My outfit is off to San Francisco. Defence of the west coast, I guess. I’m really sorry, Sandy. I’ve got to leave at once.’
‘Jesus!’ She actually went white in the face. ‘Buck, don’t you worry about a thing. I might whine like a little girl sometimes, but I know when it’s time for fun and games and when its not. You go fight the good fight, I’ll be waiting for you when you come back – and I guess there are leaves even in times of war, right?’
He nodded. ‘So I hear.’
‘There you go. Well then, flyboy, hurry off then! I’ll take the train. That cave will be here waiting for us, and Calaveras is lovely in spring, I hear.’
What Captain William “Buck” Rogers couldn’t know when he kissed the lovely Sandy good bye was that she was dead wrong. The cave they would have explored had fate dictated that the phone call had come but five minutes later, collapsed that very evening, sealing for ever a pocket of gas with most exotic properties. He would never be trapped in suspended animation inside it, and would most certainly not live to see the 25th century. Buck Rogers would make his mark in the 20th century instead.