The Fly Boys (50 page)

He watched as the Russian did as he was told, drawing a nasty-looking, flat black automatic out of his holster. Both men watched
it splash into the Yalu.

Just then Steve heard the roar of jet engines and looked overhead. The sun glinted off three MiGs high in the sky to the north.
Steve watched them begin to drop down toward the river.

“You see?” the Russian said gently. “It is useless. Ground forces will soon be here as well.”

“Shut up, and let me think,” Steve demanded. He anxiously scanned the sky to the south.
Where the fuck is the Search and Rescue whirlybird?

He looked around for some decent cover from which to make a stand, but there was nothing but a low jumble of rocks and some
brush about twenty feet away from the riverbank.

“If you surrender to me, I will guarantee that you receive humane treatment,” the Russian said.

“I will guarantee that I’ll blow your head off if you don’t do exactly as I tell you,” Steve said, approaching him. “If I’m
close to you, those MiGs can’t strafe.”

“As you wish, but it is useless—”

“Shut up! Get down on the ground and lie on your stomach.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to tie your hands behind your back with one of your boot laces,” Steve said.

“That is not necessary.”

“Do as I tell you, or I’ll shoot.”

“No. And you will not shoot,” the Russian said, shouting to be heard over the roar of the MiGs orbiting them. “If you shoot
me, those MiGs will strafe you. It is not necessary to tie my hands. I give you my word as a fellow officer and pilot that
I will remain your prisoner until such time that you might surrender to me.”

Steve stared at him. “And if I should say that’s not acceptable?”

The Russian shrugged. “Then I suppose you
will
have to shoot me.”

Steve, glaring at the Russian, finally shrugged and sighed. “Okay, Valdimir. I’ll accept your word.”

The Russian nodded. “Thank you.”

Both men glanced into the sky as the MiGs suddenly veered off, seeming to head back north.

“What?” the Russian frowned as the MiGs left.

“Look there!” Steve laughed, pointing to the south, where the sun was glinting off eight specks in the sky. “Those are BroadSwords,
Vladimir. Your MiGs beat it because they didn’t want to be caught low. If the BroadSwords have made it here, the chopper can’t
be far behind.” He laughed again as the droning
whap-whap-whap
of the whirlybird became audible and quickly increased in volume.

The olive drab Sikorsky H-19 helicopter, looking like a pregnant dragonfly, appeared low in the eastern sky. Steve realized
that the chopper, unsure of where he had gone down, had been slowly traveling the river, looking for survivors. Now, as the
H-19’s pilot saw Steve and his prisoner, the chopper picked up speed, to hover about thirty feet above their heads. Far overhead,
the BroadSwords orbited to provide top cover.

“No place to land here,” Steve yelled to the Russian over the helicopter’s roaring motor. “They’ll have to lower a sling.
Remember, you gave your word that you accept that you’re my prisoner.”

The Russian nodded as a crewman standing in the H-19’s opened sliding door began lowering a sling.

“You first, Vlaldimir.” The Russian slid his head and shoulders into the sling, and then said, “Ready.”

“Go!” Steve yelled. He watched the chopper’s winch hoist the Russian into the air, and then waited anxiously, looking around
for signs of the NKPA as the sling came down for him. When it did he holstered his gun, slid into the sling, and yelled, “Okay!”

The winch hauled him up, and then the crewman was hauling him inside the chopper, which was already coming around to get the
hell back to safety on the other side of the 38th parallel.

The Russian was sitting on the floor in the corner of the noisy chopper. Another crewman was keeping him covered with a carbine.

“He’s okay,” Steve shouted above the engine racket. “He’s my prisoner.”

“If you say so, sir,” the crewman nodded. He lowered his carbine but still kept a wary eye on the Russian as Steve sat down
next to him.

“I’ve got to say you’re taking this pretty well, Vladimir.”

The Russian smiled. “It will be all right for me. You will see.”

Steve shrugged.

“Can I ask you,” the Russian began, “why did you hunt me as you did?”

“You shot down and killed my friend,” Steve replied, watching the man for his reaction.

The Russian shrugged apologetically. “Forgive me, but I have shot down so many. Was he a BroadSword pilot?”

“No. He flew an F-80. A Shooting Star.”

“I am sorry… I don’t remember.”

“You shot him down after he and I bounced you and a buddy over the Yesong River, near Sariwon, in September 1951.”

The Russian’s dark eyes widened.

Steve nodded. “I got your buddy. You got mine.”

“That was you?” He laughed ruefully. “Even
then
I thought that you were a fine pilot. Now I know that for a fact.”

“We’re okay now, sir,” the winch operator called out. He was still standing in the doorway, but had swung back the winch,
replacing it with a fixed-mounted .30-caliber machine gun. “We’ve got the BroadSwords flying high cover, and we’ve just picked
up an escort of Mustangs that’ll stick with us until we’re over friendly territory. We should have you back home in a half
hour. The pilot’s radioing to find out what we’re supposed to do with your Russky prisoner, there. We’ve picked up some North
Korean POWs in our time, but this is the first Russian we’ve ever had the privilege of delivering.”

A burly-looking MP and several Air Force officers who Steve had never seen before were waiting at Chusan field as the chopper
set down. The officers stepped up to Steve and saluted as he climbed down out of the chopper.

“Major Gold? I’m Major Donald, from FEAFcom Intelligence,” the officer said.

“Boy, you guys got here fast,” Steve laughed.

“Yes, well,” Donald smiled thinly. “Is it true you have a Russian POW?”

Steve nodded. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder as he glanced at the MP. “He’s in the copter.”

The MP looked uncomfortable. “Sorry, sir,” he said as he relieved Steve of his .38, and then pulled Steve’s wrists behind
his back and snapped on a pair of handcuffs.

“These officers here are for the prisoner,” the MP continued. “Colonel Gleason sent me for
you
.”

“You will stand at attention, Major Gold,” Colonel Claude Gleason, CO of the 44th said. He was seated behind his desk as Steve
was escorted into the office by the MP.

“Just let me get the circulation back into my wrists, Colonel,” Steve muttered, shaking his hands. “They just came off after
being on for the last three hours.”

Colonel Claude Gleason, CO of the 44th Squadron, glared at Steve from behind his desk. “You’ve got a lot of balls talking
back to me, considering what you’ve done!” Gleason snapped. “You,” he addressed the MP. “Wait outside.”

Steve looked around. The walls of Gleason’s office were lined with framed specimens from his entomological collection. Steve
was surrounded by flattened, multicolored butterflies stuck to their pale blue blotter backgrounds by pins shoved through
their wings.

Fitting audience
, Steve couldn’t help thinking.
Don’t worry, you poor bastards. I’m about to join you. Gleason’s probably got a spot on the wall all reserved for me
.

“Colonel, may I speak frankly?”

“You may not!” Gleason spat.

“Well, I think I will anyway,” Steve said, too angry to be concerned about his insolence. “Sure I broke some rules, but I
don’t deserve this sort of treatment.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Gleason demanded. He was scarlet with anger. The flushed crimson went up past his ears to suffuse his balding
scalp. His hands were trembling with fury as he whipped off his wire-rimmed spectacles and began to polish them with the tip
of his dark blue necktie.

“You didn’t need to send an MP for me,” Steve continued. “And you didn’t need to have him handcuff me. And
then
you didn’t need to keep me sitting outside your office for the past three hours with those goddamned cuffs on.”

“Don’t you dare use profanity in this office—” Gleason began.

“
Goddamned cuffs!
” Steve yelled out, cutting him off. “There! I had my say! Now you can do your worst, Colonel! I’m glad I did what I did!
I swore I’d get Yalu Charlie to avenge my friend’s death and I did it. Now I don’t care what happens to me. Understand?”

“Quite,” Gleason nodded. “Are you finished now, Major?”

“I’m finished.”

“‘Good. Now let me tell you something,” Gleason said coldly as he replaced his glasses. “First of all, I know all about what
happened to you and your friend a year ago August. While you were waiting outside my office, I looked into the matter. Now
then, I won’t even bring up the questionable circumstances which led to the engagement between your Shooting Stars, and those
MiGs. The bottom line is that your friend died in combat. Unfortunate? Yes. But when a country is at war, such things happen.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak.

“Shut up!” Gleason slammed the desktop with the flat of his hand. “Not another word out of you, or I
swear
I’ll call in the MP and have you recuffed and
gagged
.”

Probably do it, too
, Steve thought. He kept his mouth shut.

“What you did today, Major Gold, was unaccountably irresponsible. Do you think that FEAFcom has posted China off-limits to
aggravate you pilots? Do you think that FEAFcom is rooting for the commies? That it wants
them
to win, and that’s why we’ve agreed to allow them sanctuary in Manchuria?”

I think I’ll assume that these are rhetorical questions
, Steve decided.

“Wake up and smell the coffee, Major Gold! We have nuclear weapons, and so do the Russians, but thankfully, neither side is
insane enough to want to use them. Accordingly, what we have here in Korea by mutual agreement of both sides is a ‘limited’
war. That agreement came within a hairbreadth of being abrogated by you, thanks to your deciding to invade China and ambush
a Soviet military advisor.”

“Military advisor!” Steve exploded. “How can you call Yalu Charlie a fucking military advisor?”

Gleason leapt to his feet. He came around from behind his desk, to stand toe to toe with Steve, except that the colonel was
a half foot shorter, so he had to tilt back his head to stare into Steve’s eyes.

“You want to know what’s been happening for the three hours I’ve kept you waiting, Major Gold?” Gleason’s breath thudded into
Steve’s face. “I’ve been on the horn with the brass in Japan, who have been on the horn with the brass in Washington, which
has been on the horn with Moscow. President Truman has shown great interest in this matter, as well.”

“I said that I was prepared to accept the consequences of my actions,” Steve said quietly.

“You are?” Gleason nodded, smiling coldly.

“Yes, sir.”

“I suppose you expect a court-martial?”

Steve couldn’t resist. “I don’t expect a medal, sir.”

Gleason, shaking his head, walked back to his desk and sat down in his chair. “It’s too bad you don’t expect that, you miserable
son of a bitch, because a medal is just what you’re getting.”

“Sir?” Steve asked, totally confused.

“Sir?” Gleason mimicked, looking at Steve in disgust. “You know what you are, you son of a bitch? You are
born lucky
.”

Oh, no
, Steve thought, appalled.
Pop’s somehow found out, used his influence to get me out of this. I can’t let him. Not this time. I played, and now I should
have to pay. Otherwise I’ll never be able to look anyone in the eye again for the rest of my life
. “Sir,” he began. “I—”

“It so happens,” Gleason continued, ignoring him, “that your prisoner, Vladimir Sergeyevich Volkov, is the son of some VIP
in Moscow. The Russians want him back. Desperately. They are so anxious to retrieve him, as a matter of fact, that they have
hinted that upon his return they will persuade the North Koreans to be a bit more flexible about some of the logjams tying
up the progress of the peace talks.”

Steve bit hard on his lower lip in a desperate attempt to keep from smiling. He lost.

“
Yesss
,” Gleason hissed from between clenched teeth. “It
is-s-s
funny in its way,
is-s-s-n’t
it?”

“If you only knew, sir…”

“To further cloud the issue, the press has somehow gotten hold of the story. You’re already being touted as a hero by the
wire services. Since the news out of Korea has been downbeat for so long, the brass has decided that putting a heroic slant
on what you’ve done may be just what the doctor ordered.” Gleason paused. “By all rights, you should be court-martialed and
sentenced to ten years hard labor, but that’s not going to happen. Instead, you’re being turned into a hero.”

“Thank you, sir!” Steve said brightly.

Gleason looked like he was about to say something nasty, but he stopped and just shook his head. “Number one,” he said briskly,
“you are being relieved of flight duty, effective immediately, and being sent back to the States. You’ve had more than your
share of combat tours, and in any event, it’s too risky to allow you to remain in Korea. Imagine the propaganda value to the
Reds if they managed to get hold of
you
.”

“Number two, once you’re stateside, you will be receiving the Medal of Honor and a promotion in rank to—oh, how it
galls
me to say this—lieutenant colonel.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Get out of here, Major,” Gleason scowled. “And on your way out ask the MP if you can have those handcuffs as a souvenir.”
Gleason looked wistful. “Of what might have been.”