INTERCEPTOR CONTROL
Norma was not long in discovering the reason for that last surprising
outburst of her examiner. When at last the report was finished, they
looked up to find the row of chairs empty.
“Well!” the examiner breathed. “That’s all for today. This,” she added,
“is not my regular work. My training was finished many weeks ago. I
have been away from the Fort for some time doing a—well” she
hesitated—“a rather special sort of work. Now I’m back for a brief
spell. They were shorthanded here.”
“So you’ve been helping out?”
“That’s it.” The examiner rose. Norma too stood. “We all have one great
purpose. Each of us must do what she can wherever she is.”
“To bring this terrible war to an end,” Norma added.
“You’re right again,” the other smiled.
“Whew!” she exclaimed after looking Norma over from head to toe. “You
certainly do look fit.”
“I should,” Norma grinned. “Our college has put us through _some_
training, I can tell you. We marched five miles bare-legged in shorts,
with the snow blowing across the field!”
“Climbed fences. I’ll bet.” The examiner smiled.
“Yes, and walls too. We did gym work and took corrective exercises.”
“Grand! They were preparing you for—”
“Just anything.”
“That’s swell. My name is Warren.” The officer put out a hand.
“Lieutenant Rita Warren, to be exact. I’m going up to Boom Town. Want
to go along?”
“I’d love to!”
“Right! Then come. Let’s go.” Swinging into the regulation thirty-inch
stride, Lieutenant Warren marched out of the hall with her recruit and
along the snow-lined path.
“That Interceptor Control sounds intriguing,” Norma said as they
marched over the crusted snow.
“Oh, it is! It really is!” Lieutenant Warren’s face glowed. “The most
interesting work in the world. I’ll tell you a little about it. But
don’t let me tell you too much.”
“I’ll flash the red light.” Norma laughed, as she asked, “How much is
too much?”
Lieutenant Warren did not answer, instead, she said, “We are stationed
along the seacoast.”
“Just any seacoast?”
“Any coast of America. There are a number of us in each group. We take
over some small hotel. The hotel is run just for us.”
“Must be grand!”
“Oh, it is! But we don’t have much time to think of that. We have work
to do. Plenty of it. You see, along every coast there are thousands and
thousands of volunteer watchers. They are there day and night.”
“Watching for enemy planes?”
“Yes, that’s it, and for possible enemy landings.”
“But none have come?”
“Not yet. But let us relax our vigil—then see what happens! If an
aircraft carrier stole in close in the fog and sent over fifty bombing
planes, hundreds—perhaps thousands would die. That must never happen.”
“No! Never!” Norma’s hand clenched hard.
“That’s the why of the Interceptor Control.”
“Do the WACs help with the watching?”
“In a way, yes. But not out on the sandbanks and rocky shores.”
“That’s done by volunteers?”
“Yes. The WAC works inside. There’s plenty to be done if an enemy plane
is sighted. Just plenty.
“This,” she said, changing the subject, “is Boom Town. Six months ago
it was open country.”
Norma looked up, then stared. So interested had she become in their
talk that she had failed to note that they were now passing before a
long row of new red brick buildings.
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[Illustration: _“This,” She Said, Changing the Subject, “Is Boom
Town.”_]
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“The two-story ones are barracks,” her companion explained. “Some of
the one-story buildings are Company Headquarters, some are mess halls,
and some day rooms.”
“Day rooms?” Norma was puzzled.
“Day rooms that you mostly visit at night,” Lieutenant Warren laughed.
“Lights in the barracks are out at nine-thirty. Most of the girls
prefer to retire then. When you’ve been here three days you’ll know why.
“Some hardy souls wish to stay up another hour, so they retire to the
day room to lounge in easy chairs, write letters, read, or play cards.
Bed check is at ten-forty-five. You’d better be in bed by then or
you’ll get a black mark.”
“Every night?” Norma asked in surprise.
“From Saturday noon to Sunday night is all your own. You’ll learn about
that later.”
For a moment they walked on in silence. It was Norma who broke that
silence.
“Can you tell me a little of what the WACs of the Interceptor Control
do?”
“A little is right,” was the quick reply. “Much of it is a deep, deep
secret. You’d love it all, I know.
“But listen. This is how it works,” she went on. “Some high school girl
is watching from a cliff. There are many girl watchers, and how
faithful they are!”
“This girl hears a plane in the dark. It’s off shore. She rushes to a
phone and calls a number. A WAC at the switchboard replies.”
“And then?” Norma whispered.
“Then the girl on the cliff says: ‘One single. High. Off five miles.
Going south.’
“The WAC knows from the spot on the switchboard where the girl is. She
reports the call. Another girl locates the spot on a chart. A third WAC
reports to three men. One of these men represents the Army, one the
Navy, and one the Civil Aeronautics Authority. These men consult their
records. Perhaps they discover that no plane belonging to any of their
organizations is supposed to be on that spot.”
“And then they send out a fighting plane,” Norma suggested.
“Not yet. Perhaps that girl watcher heard a vacuum sweeper instead of a
plane, so they wait.”
“And?”
“Then, perhaps two minutes later, there comes a flash from another
watcher—this time a fisherman’s wife.
“Flash! One single. High. Going south. Very fast.”
“‘Three hundred miles an hour,’ someone says. Then a fighter plane goes
up. And soon, if it’s really an attack, the sky will be filled with
fighter planes.”
“Lives saved—many lives saved by the WACs,” Norma enthused.
“We shall have done our part,” Lieutenant Warren replied modestly. “And
that is all our country expects from any of us.”
“Lieutenant,” Norma asked suddenly in a low tone, “did you notice
anything unusual about the two girls who went into your booth just
ahead of me?”
“Why no—let me see,”—the lieutenant paused to consider. “One was rather
short and chunky—of Italian stock. And the other—”
“Tall, strong—and, well—rather silent.”
“Yes. Now I recall her. No—nothing very unusual. Quite different in
character, but capable, I’d say. They’ll fit in. Of course, they’re
both of foreign extraction The tall girl’s parents were German-born.
She’s an American, as we all are. She was raised by her uncle.
Something unusual, did you say? Why did you ask that?” She fixed her
dark eyes on Norma’s puzzled face.
“Nothing, I guess. No real reason at all. I—I’m sorry I asked. I
wouldn’t hurt anyone—not for all the world.”
“Of course you wouldn’t, my dear.” The Lieutenant pressed her arm.
Lieutenant Warren seemed fairly bursting in her enthusiasm for the
Interceptor Control. She told Norma more, much more, as they marched
along. Then suddenly, as if waking from a trance, she stopped dead in
her tracks to exclaim softly:
“Oh! What have I been telling you? I shouldn’t have breathed a word of
that! It’s so hard not to talk about a thing that’s got a grip on your
very soul. Promise me you won’t breathe a word of it!”
“I promise,” Norma said quietly. “I’m sure I know how important it is.”
“Do you know?” some sprite might have whispered. Soon enough the girl
was to learn.
“Come on in here,” the Lieutenant said a moment later. “I must pick up
a suit I’ve had pressed.”
The air in the large room they entered was heavy with steam. “On this
side,” said the Lieutenant, pushing a door open a crack, “is the beauty
parlor. Some young reporters have made fun of it. As if it were a crime
for a soldier to look well!
“Those girls working in there,” she said as she closed the door, “are
civilians. They come over from the city every day. Sometimes they worry
me.”
“Worry you?” Norma was puzzled.
“Yes. You see, they’re not checked.”
“Checked?” Norma stared.
“Their records, you know. After all, this is an Army camp and, as such,
is just packed with secrets. We send out a thousand freshly trained
WACs a week. One of these days we’ll be sending a trainload all at
once. Where are they going? Are they being sent overseas? Will they be
secretaries to commanding officers? What other important tasks will
they perform? Our enemy would like to know all this and much more. And
these hairdressers just come and go. Who are they? No one knows.”
“But have _we_ been checked?”
“Have you been checked?” the Lieutenant whispered. “Oh, my dear! The
F.B.I. knows all about you. Your fingerprints are in Washington. Your
life from the time you were born has been checked and double-checked.”
“So none of us could possibly turn out to be spies?” Norma breathed a
sigh of relief.
“I wouldn’t quite say that,” her companion replied thoughtfully. “But
it would be very difficult.”
“Oh!” Norma exclaimed, fussing at her hair. “Do you suppose I could
possibly get my hair set?”
“I can’t see why not. This is a slack hour.”
“I’m going to try it!” the girl exclaimed. “Tomorrow I’ll be getting my
uniform, won’t I?”
“Yes, you will.”
“Then my cap must be fitted properly.”
“Try it, and good luck.” The Lieutenant held out a hand. “It’s been a
pleasure to talk to you.”
“Oh!” Norma exclaimed. “I want to see you many, many times!”
“My visit here at this time is short. But in the future. Here’s hoping.”
“In the future. Here’s hoping,” Norma whispered to herself as she
passed through the door.
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