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With Strength and Spirit

by Frank Ingels

443 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-1440; ISBN 1-4120-3612-7; US$33.00, C$38.00, EUR27.50, £19.00

With Strength and Spirit is an exciting, tremendous saga of human endeavor. Its twists and turns will make you laugh with joy, cry with anger and at times shock you.

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book This is a story of real people, who lived many of the adventures told within, over the period 1937 to 1969. It is a story of human dedication, tremendous perseverance, and heroic achievement. You will read about a news broadcast team, Frank and Laura Marshall, in the early days of radio. You will go with them as they travel around the globe seeking to document the turbulent days of World War II, the atomic age cold war, and the conflicts that followed. Their joys and heartaches will be yours to experience as they deal with the greatest technological project of history and the spy that gave it all away. One of Laura's younger brothers, Jamie, becomes a key factor in the development of aircraft engines for the Navy. His talents are enormous and lead him into dangerous situations that are unique, but were all too real. His involvement with the Navy's Special Operations, leads him behind enemy lines more than once. His missions are simple, ferret out the secrets of the German engine technology and the scientists responsible for their successes. Jamie represents many unsung heroes of our nation. His experiences will fascinate you. Jamie's wife, Betty, was the emerging business woman during this tumultuous period in our history. She and Jamie built a successful motorcycle business in response to the war needs of America's allies. Her journey was made with frustration and difficulty as her tenacity and her capability overcame the obstacles which a male-oriented society had created. Her rise to success was in response to America's needs of the time. You will live the life of a fighter pilot on both sides of the world as you meet and travel the adventures of Charles, Laura's youngest brother who joined the Navy on his seventeenth birthday and on the eve of catastrophe. Through Charles's eyes you will learn the history of naval aviation from the beginnings of World War II and through the development of the jet age. You will fly with him in crisp, exciting major air battles of The Battle of Britain, WWII and the conflicts that followed, Korea and Vietnam. His maturity, both as a pilot and as a human, will be both your joy and sorrow. That he put all on the line for his nation is so typical of our nation's ideals. The disappointment he feels at the change in direction of our nation after the Korean conflict will be yours as well.

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About the Author Frank Ingels is the author of several novels. He is retired after over 40 years in an engineering practice, much of which was for military systems, as well as a flying career spanning over 13,000 hours.

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Excerpts

"Frank, you're good, perhaps too good for us here. No, no, hear me out," he continued, holding up his hand to quell Frank's attempt to speak. "I've heard the reports on the opinion poll of yesterday. They're good, very good results, but that doesn't take away that you went behind my back even after I nixed the idea." Jack Holmes leaned forward in his chair, "Now, you've got to understand I see the complete picture of this station. Yes, you'll get advertisers climbing over themselves for a spot on your show , some of them anyway. But now you'll also have some that will back away from us because we're too controversial." Holmes struggled for his next words, "I made the decision the other day about this, Frank. I want to remain conservative, attractive to the bigger accounts." Jack leaned his bulk back and wiped the light perspiration from his meaty face.

The pause gave Frank his opportunity. He'd been prepared for the argument, now was his chance to defeat it.

"Jack," he'd always refused to pay undue homage to the man by the use of Mr. when not necessary, "the calls I had Johnny make during the morning show don't leave any doubts about the advertising account's positions. He called the ten largest accounts we have. They all asked to sign up for spots - no one even suggested they were unhappy."

The large man's eyes squeezed shut as he sneezed, "Damn, the fan's always causing me to do that."

He continued, "No matter, Frank, either you follow my orders or you're out. It's that simple."

The words struck hard. Frank could hardly believe he'd heard them. Where was this man's mind? Out to lunch? He heard the man continue saying, "Furthermore, Steve's been in again. He's really upset at the mess you left last night. A real pig pen, he called it. You've been warned before, Frank. I know you and Laura work late but that's no excuse. In the future ..."

Frank could contain himself no longer. Standing abruptly, he swore under his breath. To Holmes he simply stated, "There'll be no next time Holmes. I'm finished here. The narrow-minded vision of this station is too damned confining. I've heard all I'm going to about Boonton. That son of a bitch hasn't seen a night around here in months. Let him do the damned news." Frank's voice rose in volume as he strove to quell his rapidly rising pulse. "I'll be by at five for the pay I'm due." He threw the last words out through clenched teeth, more as a challenge than as a statement.

He left the office, not giving a flip what Jack Holmes was beginning to mutter about. Charlene quickly looked down as he passed her desk. "Bye, bye, tootsie," he shot out.

2

Mr. Stalely shifted in his chair to refill his cup.

"More coffee? May I call you Frank and please call me Robert?" Robert Stalely looked directly at Frank which Frank thought was an encouraging sign. At least they would have an open conversation even if not necessarily a good one.

"Frank, you're having difficulty locating an announcer's position." Stalely said it as fact. "The straight truth is Holmes has blackballed you in this town." Stalely's words, although spoken, with courtesy and respect, fell like a hammer on Frank's consciousness.

Blushing red, Frank quickly stood, his temperament to anger rising even more rapidly than himself. "That bastard," he exclaimed. Visions of Holmes' fleshy face, nastily grinning, swam before his eyes as Frank's emotions rose to a higher pitch. Waves of fury swept over him from head to toe and his vision clouded momentarily.

3

Four weeks after they'd arrived in Los Angeles, Frank and Laura and baby Davey had settled in as if they'd been there all their lives. The city's lush, flowered beauty was an oasis in a desert land. The sprawling city with Spanish motif, pastel plastered walls and palm trees contained a restless pulse which lent excitement to each day.

As their habit had become since joining the WKLA radio station, Frank pulled into the Brown Derby restaurant a few blocks from Hollywood and Vine for their lunch. The work at the station had surpassed their highest expectations and yet Frank was feeling the need for more innovation.

"You know how the public can shift their allegiance," he was telling Laura as they ate their meals, "Amos and Andy's long run is rare, not a typical show."

As they sat in idle discussion a female in a tan skirt and white silken blouse with a fluffy bow around her neck approached their table. Her voice rang out as she spoke in machine gun fashion, "Frank and Laura Marshall I recognize you from the picture in the paper. May I tell you what a wonderful news program you have. I'm one of your most devoted fans." She held out her hand towards Frank.

"Miss Carole Lombard, I, we, that is, are flattered " he responded.

4

Carole thought for a moment at the question posed to her, her lips pursed, cigarette held gracefully high between two fingers of her left hand. "The show has depth, but one thing I might like to see added is live dialogue on special topics with persons of note. Maybe top politicial officials from both sides of a viewpoint."

"That's a superb suggestion, Miss Lombard," Laura said with real interest. "I'm surprised. You've thought about this more than causally haven't you?"

"Call me Carole, please. If I may, I'd like to be on a first name basis, Laura." She drew on the cigarette, venting smoke outwards, "Actually, Clark and I have discussed your show several times. The suggestion is as much his, maybe more in fact, his as mine."

"Carole," God, Laura thought, am I really sitting here with a film celebrity discussing a philosophical approach to news shows on a first name basis? "Carole," the name was easier for her to say the second the time, "why don't you voice your opinions with Frank in a live interview?"

Laura's suggestion stunned Frank, it was as if she'd read his mind. 'Bless this woman, wife of mine,' thought Frank, 'she's managed to get to the bottom line in short order.'

5

As they broke from the bus for the aircraft, Jamie spotted the First Class Petty Officer moving away with no sea bag. Then he saw the other man, an officer, standing over in the shadowed area of the hanger. "Yeah," he thought, "that had to be a setup."

As the Petty Officer entered the hanger, the waiting officer stepped over, "Well?"

"He's probably okay, I didn't get anything out of him. But he did divert me and then changed the topic. I guess he's okay, certainly not real talkative."

The Lieutenant looked at First Class Petty Officer Evans, "He'd better be okay, Evans," he growled. "He's our best hope at gaining some real ammunition to convince the Congress that our bi-planes are totally obsolete as fighters. Even our new fighters, the F2F's and the F3F's, are obsolete."

"Lieutenant Corson," asked Evans, "it's about time you left if you're to make your nine o'clock meeting sir."

The Lieutenant nodded as the plane carrying Jamie and the others to England rose off the ground in a struggle to climb. 'We send the unknowing to seek our knowledge in the lair of the wolves,' he thought, 'God help us all.' Corson took a few strides toward the jeep. "Let's go, Evans," he spat out.

6

"Herr Hunter, wake up."

The man next to Jamie on the train from Dachau to Frankfurt shook him with his elbow. Slowly Jamie came to a wakeful state from his deep sleep. Thinking he had been awakened for his station by the man who was sitting across from him, Jamie started. "Unh? Oh, am I, are we at Munich?" He tried to rise.

"Nein, Herr Hunter. Ve just vant to talk to you. About your little visit to Stuttgart Air Field earlier today."

The gutteral, threatening tones brought Jamie fully awake instantly. He looked at the dark-haired, hatched-faced man next to him and the heavier one sitting across from him. He was trapped in his seat and he recognized them as the ones he had seen in Professor von Ohnin's office this morning. His heart sank.

A sharp instrument pushed into his ribs as the man next to him continued, "We are very close to the station. I need answers now or we will have to take you to the headquarters, you don't want that do you?"

7

"Ja, we will leave the train now, but I am afraid you will have to accompany us to headquarters. Temporarily of course, you can catch the next train to Dunkirk, it's only an hour delay." The man rose and Jamie felt the bite of the instrument in his side.

He held his bag in his right hand and as the doors opened he was greeted by a strong flash of steam from the brakes. Jamie swung the bag at the heavy man and kicked backwards at the crotch of the man with the stiletto. He jumped into the steam and ran.

8

Jamie sat still. Corson's remark was not meant to be praise, it was the softening up, the rationale they put together to get what they wanted and he had a cold feeling in his belly he'd not heard it all yet. "Corson, spill it all now. I want to hear everything you guys want. Maybe I'll resign this bar first."

Corson looked at him through the smoke, "Resign the bar? Now, you wouldn't do that. Hey, let's get it out on the table, Hunter," Corson shifted himself in the seat, "you like living on the edge. Hell, that's why you race -you're good at it and you can't stay away." Corson smiled, maybe he knew Jamie better than Jamie.

Jamie looked hard, "There's some truth in what you say. But I'm no spy and I don't like this business and I don't want to go back to Germany." The last he said forcibly to Corson. "You seem sure I'm going. How the hell would I even get there? Who do I see? Damn, you guys barter people's lives around too damn easy."

"Gunter. You need to make contact with Gunter. We have reason to believe he's had his eyes opened recently, about the Nazis, that is. He's the only lead we have." Corson waited it out. The silence grew until Jamie finally uttered a simple, disgusted, "Yeah."

9

Betty and the kids had arrived at Uncle Johnny's little cabin after a harrowing trip from the Naval base where Jamie had left them to go overseas. She was lonesome without Jamie and Uncle Johnny, her last living relative, was a great help with her and the kids. But she needed something else besides cooking and cleaning around the cabin in the woods. She had helped Jamie with the books at the fledgling motorcycle repair shop they had before Jamie left and she thought maybe she could get a job in town with a shop. Goodness knows that Uncle Johnny could use the income if she paid for their lodging and meals.

The next day she and Uncle Johnny and the kids went into town, stopping by a ramshackle two room building on the outskirts of St. Augustine. It was there that Johnny told her he owned the building and that the last tenant had left several years ago. By now Betty had found out that St. Augustine had no motorcycle shop and the first thoughts she had were how Jamie would love this place for a shop. Then it struck her, this was a gift, a promise, maybe from God? Did she dare to think that of the promise of the place? It had a bathroom, a septic tank, electricity and it was on the highway between St. Augustine and Jacksonville. It was just perfect for a motorcycle repair business like they had at the Navy base. It was tailor made, a front room for display and a back room with double outside doors for a shop. Why the front room could even be a place for a mechanic to stay

Later that evening she approached Johnny, "I'm not sure where I'm going with this, Johnny, but if you'll hear me out I got a proposition for you to consider." She let him digest the words.

"Betty, I could see you had figuring going on in your mind back at the place there today. Figured you'd spit it out sooner or later." He fell silent, just rocking slowly, puffing on the homemade cigarette which glowed in the darkening light, competing with the lightning bugs.

"Well, it's sorta' like this Johnny, I can't just sit here and do nothing -not that being here with you and helping around the house is nothing 'cause it's wonderful to be here, mind you -but I mean not doing something to use what Jamie's already started and using what you already sacrificed for. I mean I need to pull my share of the wagon sorta' like." Betty stopped, this was not coming out right. She just needed to say it like she really felt it to be. "What I really mean to say is we got a starter for a good little business here and I can't not try it. Oh, Johnny," she said in earnest, "I learned how to do something 'sides be a hanging-on-momma-with-kids and I don't want to stop. It makes me feel like a whole person helping with a business and all."

10

Assigned to compare the F4F Wildcat, known as the Martlet by the British, Charles had flown both the Spitfire and the Hurricane. Today he was in the Hurricane well above the service ceiling at 11,000 meters altitude to test the guns for freeze up. They worked as advertised unlike the F4F, which would have to be corrected for the problem. As Charles swung the Hurricane towards the northeast he spotted contrails to the east.

Curious he inquired, "Sector Control, do you have the formation well east of my position?"

"That is negative, Yank One. The next sector may have that target."

"Switch me over, Sector, I'm going that direction." He decided to maintain his altitude of 10,000 meters and investigate what had to be an incoming raid. The next sector reported the target as approximately 6,000 meters.

"Can't be, Sector Control, I'm almost at the same height as the top layer of aircraft."

A strong voice broke into his headset, one with curious detachment. "Yank One, this is 257 Squadron, do you copy?"

"The Burma Boys from Martlesham Heath, realized Charles as he replied, "257 Squadron, go ahead."

"Are you quite sure of the altitude?" The pilot's voice sounded far away and muffled as if the mask was not pulled tight.

"Dead sure, if you're being vectored at 6,000 meters, you're much too low."

"Thank you, sport. We're passing 6,000 meters now."

His pulse quickened and without thinking he responded, "I'll meet you there, 257 leader."

There was a pause, a chuckle came over the R/T. "Can't miss the fun with the Hun?"

"Guess not," he quipped, startled at the revelation of his building excitement.

"Just hop in behind my wingman if you like, Yank One. We'll take a run at the 109's, then go for the bombers." The 257 leader keyed again, "On we go lads."

It was seventy RAF versus hundreds of German aircraft and as they tore down towards the bombers in a breathtaking dive. Charles lined up on a Heinkel HE-111, watching in awe as the wide wings grew to gargantuan size before triggering the eight Browings and watching as the shells ate away at the bomber. A turn, a flash, a fleeting shadow whipping by, then it was all over. Once again he was startled at the swiftness with which death was dealt out in air combat and how the sky emptied of its whirling charges to become filled with a tremendous stillness. A few thin smoke smears and a solitary parachute floating lazily toward the broad Thames valley below was all that was left of the whirling circus of a few minutes before.

11

It was long ago, Charles remembered, that he flew in England, the Pacific and then Korea. This was a very different war, this Vietnam. He shook off the recollections as they spotted incoming MIG's.

"CV, take the lead pair, we'll back you up." It was John Butcher's voice edged with tense excitement.

"Aye, aye. Van get your gear cranked up. We get our first test of the Falcon Missile."

"Aye sir. Arm both types?" Van referred to the earlier conversation about backing up the new missile with the proven Sidewinder.

Sure enough, Charles saw the other plane in the vertical maneuver as well. The F-4 had more energy and out zoomed the MIG, but the MIG quickly maneuvered into a six o'clock position relative to the F-4. Now Charles used all the experience he had ever learned as he and the MIG-17 pilot jockeyed for firing positions, the raw power and speed of the F-4 versus the 17's maneuverability.

"Get him Van, we're coming on the torch end." Charles ground out the words through clenched teeth, his legs and arms were beginning to tremble from the long, tense encounter. If he'd had time he could have felt fear, but all his mental faculties were occupied in judging speed, distance, angles.

12

He eased the wounded, dying jet towards the coast unable to regain speed or altitude and, with waning daylight, Charles triggered the ejection seat as the plane gave its last gasp. The chute opened against a dark, purple sky, tainted with the dull red of a hull down sun and the solitary figure descended towards the hell of Vietnam near a hill named Con Thien.

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Catalogue Information

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