Command Decision (21 page)

Every plane motor on the field had been cut off after warming up. Through the enveloping background of the silence itself he could hear occasionally the faint purring of the bowser engines pumping to replace in the plane tanks every drop of the precious gallons expended in the warming up of the motors.

Dennis had been raising his wrist watch closer to his eyes when he heard them. There was an explosion of muffled coughing padded with the whirring of starters. Then the reports deepened as motors caught. The noise blended rapidly into a cup of continuous thunder that pressed in around him from every side. The air, the roof, his clothes, his body, the universe itself, began to shake with a thunder of vibrations rising up and ever up beyond every former crescendo of man’s imagining.

Around him the grayness of the mist tossed and danced in fitful homeless dislocation, swirling and opening and closing, lifting and falling and eddying in a demented frenzy of disintegration that tore the physical texture of the air. Then, through the turbulence, he had seen the spectral fans of the riding lights rolling around the perimeter track toward him.

The great beetles waddled heavily as they came. Through the thunder itself cut the gnatlike squealing of brakes protesting the crushing momentum of bomb and gas loads. They came faster, running a little to catch up with each other and then checking themselves with clumsy jerks and half turns. As the leader stopped the others pressed in behind it, inching and squeezing for compression, jealous of every foot of space between them with its inexorable price of gas to be burned for recovery of their final position in the air.

The compressed waiting line zigzagged back into the mist which had become heavy with the acrid fumes of burning brake bands. Down the line Dennis could see the faces of the pilots and copilots and discern the drawn tension under the long visors even through the blur of universal vibration. Some wiped endlessly with waste at the vapor on the plexiglass before them, some craned their necks anxiously out of windows before closing up another few inches.

From long habit Dennis counted as they came. The brakes on the last one were still squealing when he saw the blink of the Ops light. The heavy thunder of the column had abated now for economy of fuel. With the blinking of that light it broke over him again in all the final fury of the force that beat down gravity itself.

The lead plane lifted visibly in its tracks against the rigidity of its brakes. The naked girl on the nose blurred, even her most prominent points of interest dissolving into one quivering pale blob of light against mottled green darkness. Mist leaped upward in flight from the thunder of the whole column. Through the sudden clarity Dennis saw space opening behind the lead ship, and saw that she was receding from him.

He had known that Ted should be busy at the radio desk. As always Dennis had driven Martin out to the parking stand in his own car. This morning the young pilot had had his crew drawn up at rigid attention to await them, his eager face almost bursting with pride over their passenger.

“Good morning, sir. Would you like to go over anything?”

“Not with you, Luther,” Martin had grinned. “Better tell ’em to get in.”

They had both felt a reflex of the pleasure in the compliment as the crew scrambled rapidly out of sight. Martin had walked forward for a studious scrutiny of the girl on the nose before nodding approval.

“She could fly us home with those in a pinch, Casey.”

“Well, take care of ’em, Ted.”

“Yeah.”

They never shook hands. Martin had glanced once more at his watch, winked, and stepped briskly toward the hatch when he had stopped and turned back, the grin gone from his face.

“Casey, keep your head with that Congress, will you?”

“Sure. You keep your feet dry, Ted.”

Now as the blurred flesh-colored blob of the girl rolled down the strip away from him, Dennis saw the young pilot’s arm flash in farewell to him. He waved back at the boy with emotion.

The plane gathered way rapidly; in three seconds she was rolling lightly. He strained his eyes, still waving as she began to lift into the mist itself, and at the last second he clearly saw a new figure and another arm suddenly flash from the left waistgate. It comforted him.

He had remained on the roof for most of the next hour, his ears attuned to every vibration of the laborious struggle for altitude and formation, tracing them round and round the shrouded perimeter of the horizon above him. Every circle told its own story of tighter harmony in the throbbing as the last planes off closed up with the first ones and the universal thunder diminished imperceptibly into a high, far drone.

Three times he had held his breath over the sudden blossoming of rockets, discernible even through the mist, but there had been no collisions that morning. Upward and ever upward the diminishing drone corkscrewed away from him. For a time it gained in unity what it lost in proximity while Martin shepherded them expertly together. But the time passed.

As their physical presence receded Dennis had felt again the familiar weight of anxiety descending upon him. The ground commander, delivering battle, can feel his way in, probing with a tentative, ordered sequence of patrols, platoons, companies, battalions. It is almost always his option to terminate the engagement if it appears unfavorable. Similarly naval forces feel for each other with expendable tentacles before deliberately accepting irrevocable commitment.

The offensive bomber force, crossing water, burns the bridges of retreat in its own gas tanks. Every maneuver of battle narrows the margin of its return. But even beyond battle itself lurk hazards of an equally final disaster. An unforeseen change of wind, a serious navigational mistake or careless use of fuel for flight, can force down an entire formation into grounded captivity.

Dennis and Martin had spent long hours with able help, weighing the problems of wind, weather, altitude, speed, and daylight against the counterclaims of flak, fighters, and fatigue. Always the intermediate specter of disaster hovered over each beguiling illusion about the shortest distance between two points. They had emerged with a margin over which they had looked at each other in shocked silence until Martin had burst out laughing.

“I’m going to take my toothbrush.”

Gradually as Dennis listened through the gray mist the arcs of the sound became wider and wider. Once more it came back with a slight rise of force and that time as it began to recede he knew it was fading with the finality of the course. He was starting heavily into the Ops room when a last indulgence of nature rewarded his long vigil.

For a fleeting second some capricious zephyr parted the mist and he had a brief view of the whole column, already miles above him. The upward angles of the early sun had caught their wings and bellies, paling the young daylight they cleft with an arching chain of iridescence.

They were still badly spread out. Ted would not waste a drop of gas to hurry the agonizing process of formation but they had taken their easterly heading. The long, loose procession spangled the sky with an arrowy scintillation, through a brief and final gleam, before Dennis stood alone again in the heavy mist their vibrations no longer troubled. He became aware of silence now as he had then and realized that Mr. Malcolm was repeating a question to him.

***

“Are they undeh fighteh coveh today, Gennel?”

“Not all the way. Fighters will take them to here…” he indicated the final turnback point on the map… “and another relay will pick them up here, coming out. They’ll be on their own the rest of the way.”

“An’ you sent them on youah own authority again?”

“Yes.”

“Is theah any reason why you cain’t fin’ woythwhile tahgets undeh fighteh coveh like the otheh gennels do?”

“These extension tanks were made to enable us to reach the most important targets in their range. We’re doing it.”

“You just sen’ ’em regahdless of fighteh coveh?”

“I thought I’d explained, Mr. Malcolm, that our present fighters can’t reach these targets.”

“You ain’t explained why you puhsonally are the onlies’ one to sen’ ’em beyon’ fighteh coveh every time Gennel Kane got his back turned on otheh business. Neah as I can figuah out more than half the losses of this whole Aih Ahmy come out of these heah recohd attacks fum this one division. Lemme see that tonnage an’ sohtie chaht again, Sahgeant.”

Evans produced the chart grudgingly. He had cherished the illusion of independence for many years but he knew now that he had come to the end of it. In the army, of all places, and to a General, of all human beings, he had come at last to the common burden of allegiance.

There was pride in it, pride that had made him whisper to himself:
I bet Dennis makes him sorry he ever stuck his head out of the swamp
. But there was pain in it too, the certain pain of the price Dennis would pay for this pleasure.

“I thought so,” said Malcolm. “Every otheh division has consistently increased sohties an’ tonnages excep’…”

“If you’re interested in sortie and tonnage figures, Mr. Malcolm,” said Dennis, “I suggest you visit the training commands. They beat all the operational commands combined—that is, all but the training commands in your state.”

“What are you sayin’ about my state?”

“That every airfield in it is under eighteen inches of water half the year and four to nine thousand feet of solid overcast for nine months. But every time we tried to move somewhere we could operate the recommendations were blocked in your committee.”

Evans held his breath but unexpectedly the open laughter of Stone and Field checked the smoldering combustion in the room long enough for Kane to intervene.

“You’re straying from the subject, General. We all realize, Mr. Malcolm, that the country expects a rising scale of effort from us. We still have tomorrow to bring our monthly totals of sorties and tonnages to a new record high. It would be a great thing for public confidence if your delegation here were to make the announcement. I’m sure we can clear it with the Chief and I’m sure that Brockie here will help us with the press.”

“Are you?” asked Brockhurst pointedly.

“Of course,” said Kane.

Brockhurst subsided but Malcolm knew appeasement when he heard it.

“I’m suah that will help, Gennel. But the announcement the public is really waitin’ foh is the end of these muhderous long-range attacks. If I have anything to say about it…”

“This division’s operations are determined by military directive, Mr. Malcolm,” said Dennis.

Malcolm turned truculently on Dennis and Evans’s heart lifted. The Congressman was formidably larger than the General. One hostile gesture would justify any soldier’s defense of his superior. Evans eyed the Congressman’s crotch with an eager twitching in his heavy shoe. He had never found occasion to use all his army education but the prospects looked promising. They were spoiled for the moment, however, by the entrance of Haley.

“Red and blue forces now approaching objectives, sir.”

Chapter 12

As always the claim of the operation swept everything else from Dennis’s mind. He had forgotten the Congressman towering above him at the first sight of Haley.

“Getting any reaction?”

“Not yet, sir,” said Haley reluctantly, “but they should bomb in about two minutes and a half.”

“Gentlemen,” said Kane, “I’m going to take you down to the radar plotting and signals room myself, but you will probably understand what you’re seeing better if General Dennis gives us a quick résumé on this map first.”

Dennis made short work of explaining the problem on which he had spent most of the night. Through this his visitors followed him attentively with sensible questions. Seen as three lines on a map the problem looked simple. He omitted all mention of the compounding factors of time correlation and gas consumption.

The details of the defenses appeared equally simple. It took little experience to see how quickly German fighters could converge from either side against that center course, how relatively few were the groups on the extremities that might, with luck, be lured into wasting effort on Endicott’s and Salmond’s short stabs in from the protective vastness of their ocean approach and withdrawal courses.

“When will your Fifth Division bomb, General?” asked Field.

“About fourteen minutes now, sir.”

“And these other missions are essentially a diversion to prevent concentration of the defenses against your division?”

“They serve two purposes,” said Kane quickly. “They are attacking very important naval objectives. But of course they will help to split the defenses.”

“Do you expect their diversionary purpose to succeed, General Dennis?” asked Stone.

“Not entirely unless they’ve got a green controller on duty. It may help a little—it’s the best we could do.”

“Gentlemen, General Dennis will not wish to leave his office just now. If you’ll come with me we’ll rejoin him presently,” said Kane.

It was a novelty to be forbidden his own plotting room, however subtly, but the order was unmistakable. Dennis watched them file out with a feeling of relief. But as the last of them stepped through the door and Haley began to lead them down the winding steps to the bombproof nerve center far underground, Kane lingered in the office, his aplomb collapsing in a frantic concern that ignored the presence of Evans.

“Casey, for Christ’s sake be careful…”

“Sir, you promised me Fendelhorst tomorrow….”

“By tomorrow Malcolm could have us both in the Quartermaster Corps in Greenland. Is that citation ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And a good lunch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And plenty to drink?”

“Why… I hadn’t thought of it, sir….”

“Hadn’t thought of booze with Congressmen here? For God’s sake start thinking… in double triples.”

He closed the door and fled after the party. Dennis allowed some of his indignation to explode into speech before he noticed Evans.

“
Booze!
It’s a goddamned wonder he doesn’t want opium and slave girls!”

“We can start them on benzedrine and Wacs, sir. Regular field conditions,” said Evans.