On any fixed day at MCAS Cherry Point, the entwine is alive with the thunder of jet engines. It is the sound, as arrogantly announced by the air facility welcomed sign, of state. The stories of those who have defended this state are many; Cherry Point boasts a protracted gift of heroes in get-up blues. Yet, fable has it, years earlier the installing itself was commissioned, duty named present for different man. He would be asked to fashion the last human action for its preservation, but it would be his better half who would be remembered the furthermost for it.
Her nickname was Bonnie Sue. As a tender armed forces wife, the parable tells she and her married person shared a matrimonial at what is now the entity of Cherry Point's, Marine Air Control Squadron-2. Her better half was called off to war, going away Bonnie Sue down to wait a instrument that would ne'er come up. It is aforementioned she dog-tired the balance of her go want the arrival of her mislaid love, singular to ultimately die grief-stricken and alone. In destruction she remained as retiring as she had been in life, dug in in a eremitical staid upon the overland where she had tired her life span bereft.
Years later, the Cherry Point air facility would be built around this base camp. The unsmiling remained untouched; a cold, rock testament to the days of a adult female whose go was the respect she gave and shared beside one man alone.
Some say, even in death, Bonnie Sue knows no order. Hushed whispers utter of a numeral in the shadows whose cries are recurrently heard muffled on the crisscross. Stories are told of a inscrutable female caller who still begs of the picket on monies to cognize once her husband, gone for so umteen years, is approaching family. Perhaps these are only the stories of the ages, passed on from one age group to the next, the purest section of Semper Fidelis.
Then again, perchance she walks tonight.