Wingmen (9781310207280) (14 page)

“The
makee-learn admiral. I don’t have a care in the world right now,
Fred. I just observe and make notes and once in a long while I get
up the energy to make a suggestion that everyone oohs and ahhs over
but never accepts. Some day before long, though, you watch, I’ll be
making the decisions and they’ll be the same as the suggestions and
everyone’ll say, ‘Gee, Admiral, that sure is a smart decision.’” He
laughed again, sounding very pleased with himself.

Another fighter
landed. There were six Hellcats on deck now, including one sitting
on the deck edge elevator. Fred saw Higgins climb from the nearest
one and head for the island. “I think I better be getting down to
the ready room, sir. They might want me for the first CAP.”

“Well, I hope
you find it all right. You know, I heard a story once about a pilot
who tried to find the head on a carrier. They didn’t see him for
three months.” Admiral Berkey laughed. The creases in his forehead
and around his eyes smoothed out briefly. For the first time Fred
noticed the gold wings pinned over his left pocket and understood
how the admiral could look sad, worried, and happy all at the same
time. The admiral was a pilot and felt things like a pilot. He was
worried when young men did dangerous things, such as landing a
bucking fighter on a moving carrier deck. The admiral liked Fred
because he liked pilots.

“It’s been a
privilege to talk to you, sir,” said Fred. Admiral Berkey smiled,
grunted, and turned back to watch another Hellcat land. Fred left
and wandered around the island with his plotting board and flight
gear until he found the ready room.

“Sloppy, gentlemen,”
said Commander Buster Jennings, commanding officer of Air Group
Twenty. “It was goddamn sloppy.” CAG was referring to the air group
landing ten hours earlier. He was speaking with the squadron
commanders. The four men were crowded into CAG’s none-too-spacious
stateroom with its single bunk, tiny fold-down desk, and chair. Two
of the squadron leaders sat on the bed. Jennings had the chair.
Jack Hardigan stood uncomfortably against the outer bulkhead and
wished CAG would wind it up so he could go to bed and get some
sleep. “Hardigan, your boys got more wave-offs than either of the
other squadrons. Didn’t you train those clowns?”

“Come on,
Skipper,” said Bloomington, the C.O. of VB-20, whose popular name
was “Boom.” “You know it was that LSO. This is his first cruise. He
was waving everyone off.”

“If I want
excuses,” said Jennings, “I’ll ask for them. On the whole, our
appearance this morning was deplorable. There’d better be a lot of
goddamn improvement, or someone will pay with his ass.” He shuffled
through an amazingly thick pile of papers and thought of another
attack. “I hear from the crew chiefs that some maintenance gear and
a whole cartload of wing tanks got left behind. Who’s responsible
for
that
screw up?”

The three
squadron commanders looked at each other and shrugged. “You know,
Skipper,” said Woody Heywood, the torpedo skipper, “the only guys
really prepared were Jack’s boys. The rest of us did the Chinese
fire drill number.” He shrugged again, nonchalantly. “But we’re all
here.”

“Like hell we
are,” said Jennings.

“If you mean
Ensign Prebble,” said Boom, “he got picked up by a can this
morning. They’ll highline him and his crewman tomorrow
morning.”

“No, sir, I
wasn’t referring to
that
foul-up. I meant that our prepared skipper of
the fighters lost three of his pilots over a month ago and hasn’t
found them yet.” Jack shifted his weight to relieve the tingling in
his right leg.

“Geez, Jack,”
said Woody, “I’m sorry to hear that. They die of the clap?”

“They’re really
lost,” said Jack. “Missing in inaction.”

“I don’t think
humor at this time is very appropriate,” said Jennings. “Mister
Hardigan, I want a written report regarding the final disposition
of those pilots on my desk by tomorrow afternoon. Is that
understood?”

“Aye, aye,
sir.”

“Mister
Bloomington, I want to see that Ensign what’s-his-name in my office
as soon as he gets aboard tomorrow.”

“Mister
Prebble?”

“Yes, as soon
as he gets aboard.” A blue-covered flight manual dislodged itself
from the sliding pile of papers and fell to the deck with a thud.
“Oh, yes, while I think of it. Tomorrow evening at this time I want
to see Mister Hardigan and Mister Bloomington regarding the
training programs for the new aircraft. Come fully prepared. I
won’t have you wasting my time.” He looked directly at Jack as he
said that. “And the first battle problem briefing will be Sunday
night.” Jack wanted to say something to CAG about the times when he
was scheduling all these meetings, since they would conflict with
the show time of the evening movie in the wardroom. He wasn’t that
fond of movies but it just wasn’t fair. He was about to speak up,
but Boom beat him to it.

“Geez,
Skipper,” he said, “couldn’t we find another time for these
briefings? I mean the wardroom movie starts at eight.”

“What’s more
important, Mister Bloomington, the goddamn movie or this training
cruise? And use military time if you don’t mind.”

“Aye, aye,
sir.” Boom sighed audibly and rolled his eyes.

“Well, sir,”
said Woody, yawning and stretching, “it’s been a long day.”

“Good,” said
Jennings, “then I’ll start with you. Bring in your training charts
and we’ll go over them tonight.”

Silence hung
awkwardly for a long moment before Woody spoke. “Whatever you say,
sir.”

“You two can
go.” Jennings nodded to Jack and Boom.

Boom stood up.
“Good night, sir,” he said, stepping over CAG’s legs and following
Jack through the door. The two men found their way down the
red-lighted passageway toward their own staterooms, dodging the
unfamiliar obstacles that cluttered their path. The ship’s movement
through the waters of the Pacific was only slightly
perceptible.

“What a son of
a bitch,” said Boom. “He’s really got your number, hasn’t he?”

“Hell,” said
Jack, “he just likes to hear himself talk. He doesn’t really bother
me.”
He
does
bother me
,
he thought;
I can’t
stand the bastard.

They reached
the door to Boom’s stateroom and stopped. Boom stretched. “You
interested in a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks,”
said Jack.

“I don’t mean
the wardroom variety of coffee,” said Boom. “I mean my own special
blend.” Jack knew he meant liquor, but he didn’t feel like it. “No,
really. A little fresh air and then I’ll hit the hay.”

“How’re those
Corsairs turning out?”

“Little early
to tell right now. They say the tail hooks are giving trouble, and
the chiefs are bitching about inaccurate manuals. And they land
funny.” He understated the problem; the Corsair he had flown aboard
that day had the tightest, bounciest landing gear oleo he had ever
encountered.

“That’s about
the same with those Curtiss jobs. The controls are all wacky,
especially near the red line.”

“You’ll get the
bugs worked out.”

“Yeah, I
suppose so.” Boom gave Jack a mock punch in the gut. “Well, tiger,
I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sure. Good
night.”

“Night.” Boom
Bloomington disappeared into his stateroom and the door closed.

Alone in the
dark passageway, Jack stood for a moment, savoring the sounds and
smells of the carrier at night, trying to feel at home the way he
should. The air was not hot, but it was stuffy and warm, helped
little by the continuous circulation of fresh air through blowers
topside. Jack walked down the close corridor, passing several doors
opening on unlighted rooms. He could hear an occasional heavy
snorer or muted voices discussing the ship or the war or girls.
Almost everyone was sleeping.

Blundering
somewhat, he managed to find a ladder leading topside (they’d built
this ship so differently from the
Hornet
or the
Enterprise
or the
Lex
) and climbed two decks to
the echoing, plane-jammed hangar deck. Fresh night air poured
through the huge, unlighted enclosure and eddied around the silent
aircraft. Jack headed aft toward the deck edge elevator, which he
found so intriguing in its simple elegance. He passed a carefully
shielded group of mechanics, working on and cursing a Dauntless
engine. The elevator was in the down position, with fold-up life
nets bordering the edges. Jack let his eyes adjust to the dim light
of the stars before he stepped over the loose chain that hung
across the opening in the ship’s side and walked out onto the
elevator. He was there in the wind and sea smell for almost a
minute before he realized that he wasn’t alone.

It was Fred
Trusteau. “Fred,” Jack said.

“Skipper.”

“How come
you’re not in the rack?”

“I guess I’m
just too charged up, Skipper. It was a pretty exciting day.”

“Sure was.”
They moved closer together so their words wouldn’t be carried away
by the pressure of the wind and stood looking out into the
blackness of the tropical night. A large, irregular shape which
Jack knew to be a heavy cruiser lurked an indefinite distance away.
It blotted out the stars that blazed all the way to the
horizon.

“Nice out
tonight,” said Fred. He shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked
cold.

“It’s always
nice out here,” said Jack. The wind pressed against their bodies
like a living force. Jack pulled off his garrison cap and shoved it
into his hip pocket. “Well,” he said, trying to think of something
to say.

“I talked with
Admiral Berkey today,” said Fred.

“Is that right?
And what did the admiral have to say?”

Fred laughed.
“He told me all about deck edge elevators.”

“Admiral Berkey
was the C.O. of the
Langley
back before the war. He knows all the
old-timers. Nice guy.”

“You’ve met him
before?”

“I’m one of the
old-timers.” They huddled in silence for several seconds. “You just
made me realize how long I’ve been in the Navy.”

“How long would
that be, sir?”

“Too long.” He
thought for a second, realizing that Fred deserved a better answer
than that. “Almost nine years. The last year and a half seems like
a hundred all by itself.”

“Do you plan on
staying in when the war’s over?”

How can he ask a question like
that
, thought Jack.
How did he know I was just thinking about—

“The end of the
war’s too far away to consider that right now,” Jack said.

That was the
truth. But having a boss like Buster Jennings made the prospect of
civilian life seem more and more desirable.

Fred rolled his
head, looking up at the incredible splendor of the stars. “I’ve
never seen so many stars before. I had no idea it would be this
way.”

“You’ve never
been to sea before?”

“Does the ferry
to Santa Catalina count?”

“Only if you
make the trip during a typhoon.”

“Well, just
seeing this almost makes it all worth it,” said Fred.

How many of my pilots ever
stopped to consider the stars?
thought Jack.
Some of these guys are going to
die without ever realizing how magnificent the stars
are.

Fred fumbled in
his pocket and came up with a nearly empty cigarette pack. He
offered one to Jack.

“We shouldn’t.
Not here. Might show a light.”

Fred replaced
the pack and buttoned the flap on his pocket. “Live and learn,” he
said.

“That’s what
I’m here for.” Jack smiled, knowing it couldn’t be seen in the
dark.

“Speaking of
learning,” said Fred.

“Yes?”

“Well, Skipper,
I’m your wingman and we haven’t flown together even once.”

“That’s right,
I guess we haven’t.” Jack was thinking,
Damn you, Buster Jennings and damn you,
Art Blasshill for not giving me the time for what’s most important:
training these men to survive the enemy.

“I really
think—I mean I really would like to, the first chance you get.”

Jack was silent
for a moment. “Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time later.”
I hope
, he
thought.

“That’d be
great, Skipper.”

“Mister Higgins
says you’re pretty sure of yourself in the air.”

“He’s being
very generous.”

“Perhaps.” Jack
took a deep breath, a last look around. “I guess it’s about that
time.” He turned to go.

“Can I go with
you?” Fred almost blurted it, then added quickly, “I haven’t
learned to find officer’s country by myself yet.”

Jack laughed.
“Neither have I. But I think between the two of us we’ll
manage.”

They stepped
over the safety chain and crossed the hangar, picking their way
through the parked aircraft. On the second level down, Jack asked
Fred for the cigarette he’d offered before, and Fred gave it to
him. They said good night outside of Jack’s stateroom. Then Fred
was alone.