Wingmen (9781310207280) (16 page)

“I tried to
hold her hand, and the next thing I knew she had me in a full
nelson. Couldn’t walk for a week afterward.”

“That’s
bullshit. There aren’t any female pilots.”

“Like hell
there aren’t. They ferry planes from the factories to the west
coast.”

“You’re full of
shit.”

“Hey, Trusty,
aren’t there lady pilots?”

“Yes,” said
Fred, “there are.”

“See, dumbo, I
told you so.”

“Knock it off,
you guys.” Hughes stood up in the middle of the compartment. “The
voting for Miss Fighting Twenty has reached a deadlock. No one can
decide who has the best ass.” He held up two fold-out pages with
pictures of women in bathing suits. The first was lying on her
stomach with one leg bent playfully. The other was standing and
coyly looking over her left shoulder into the camera.
Big deal
, thought
Fred.

“This one was
submitted by the men of Division Three and this one by Division
Five,” Hughes continued. “After a careful vote the decision is all
tied up, so we decided to let an impartial outsider with
considerable experience in the field pick the one with the best
ass.” He held the two pinups out so Fred could see them clearly.
“Trusty, the decision is yours.”

You gotta be kidding
,
Fred thought.

“Come on,” said
Duggin, “the blonde’s a knockout. The other’s a bag. What do you
say, Trusty?”

“Why don’t you
let the skipper pick?” Fred asked.

“Naw, we want
you, Trusty.”

Goddamn, I hate that
name
, he thought.

A man’s head
appeared in the doorway and peered through the smoke. Fred noticed
him and thought he recognized the face.

“Is Fred
Trusteau in here somewhere?” the man asked. It was Admiral
Berkey.

“Attention on
deck,” someone said. The pilots struggled to their feet and silence
fell with choking suddenness.

“Don’t get up
on account of me, fellas,” said the Admiral, standing just inside
the door—it was impossible to get any further in. “Just take it
easy.” He began to inspect the faces of the pilots as they
self-consciously took their seats again. “There you are, Fred,” he
said at last. The other men raised their eyebrows in surprise or
nudged their neighbors. Fred Trusteau was on a first-name basis
with the admiral.

“Good to see
you again, sir,” said Fred, still standing.

“I just wanted
to congratulate you on the way you handled yourself in the air this
morning, Fred. It was right commendable.”

“Thank you,
sir,” said Fred. He was very embarrassed.

“And we found
out what airplane that was, too.”

“Sir?”

“It was an army
trainer. Not yet marked. Some hotshot Army pilot thought he could
navigate to Hawaii with a general aboard. Got lost along the way
and ran into us. Scared the pants off him, you did, Fred.”

“I wasn’t
trying to, sir.”

“I was in radio
listening to that pilot. He was almost in tears.”

“That’s nice,
sir.”

“And someone’s
going to catch hell for allowing an improperly marked airplane into
a combat zone.” A few of the pilots laughed discreetly. “Well, I
just thought you’d like to know how it all worked out.” The admiral
turned to go.

“I did, sir,
and thanks again.”

“Good night,
son, and keep up the good work.” The admiral left.

“Yes, sir,”
said Fred.

There was a
moment of silence.

“I don’t
believe it,” someone said.

“He’s chummy
with the goddamn brass.”

“An Army
general. I bet he shit in his pants.”

“You’re
something else, Trusty.”

“Sure,” said
Fred. He sat down heavily.

“Come on,
Trusty, now you
gotta
pick the best ass.”

The two pinups
appeared before him again. Fred thought for a moment, trying not to
look at the girls. “Put that one up first. For a week. Then put the
other one up for a week. Okay?”

“That’s all
right with me,” said Hughes.

“Why didn’t we
think of that?” asked Duggin.

“You have to
have a brain to think of something like that, that’s why.”

“Did I ever
tell you guys about this broad I went out with?” said Hughes. “She
had one big tit and one small one.”

“You’re full of
shit.”

“I’m not
kidding. She had half a falsie on.”

Fred looked at
his watch and climbed to his feet.

“Where you
going, Trusty?” Duggin asked.

“To take a
leak. You want to come along?”

Duggin laughed.
“No thanks. Maybe next time.”

Fred forced his
way through the crowd and into the darkened passageway. It took him
five minutes to reach the deck edge elevator.

“You’ve got it
pretty well planned out,” said CAG, “but there’s going to have to
be a few changes.”

“Changes?”
asked Jack.
I knew
it
, he thought,
the son of a bitch couldn’t leave well enough alone.
“What kind of changes?”

“I need two
aircraft a day to tow antiaircraft sleeves for the ships’
guns.”

“Isn’t that
usually handled by the Avengers?”

“Generally,
yes, but they’ve got their hands full with the ASW patrols, and
they haven’t had the opportunity to train with ship targets before
this. So I want to use the Hellcats.”

“My men need
the training, too.”

“Put your
experienced pilots on the duty. Let the new ones work out by
themselves.”

“Most of my
division leaders are working with the Corsairs.”

“I believe
you’re arguing with me, Mister Hardigan.”

“No, sir, I’m
not. I’m just trying to stick up for my men, that’s all.”

Jennings looked
intently at Jack for several seconds, then turned his attention
back to the overladen desk. “The flight schedule for the Corsairs
isn’t heavy enough. I want them in the air every day, without
fail,” he said.

“The crew
chiefs say the main problems with the Corsairs are in maintenance
and repair. They’re having trouble with the tail hook assembly.
They may not be able to get them into the air every day.”

“Mister
Hardigan, those chiefs need motivation, something
you
are supposed to supply.
Why don’t you get busy motivating people instead of finding excuses
for not flying?”

“Sir, are you
saying that I’m not making an effort to fly every day?”

“Mister
Hardigan, I’m saying that you’re fighting me tooth and nail on
every major operational policy for your squadron. I’m starting to
think that your attitude could use some improvement.”

Jack leaned
back and tried to calm down. Rage was boiling up inside him, and he
was having a hard time controlling it.

“Very well,
sir,” he said. “I’ll rework the training schedules as you suggest.
I’ll have them ready tomorrow morning.”

“No, you
won’t.”

“Sir?”

“You’ll have
them ready for me tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“You heard me,
Mister Hardigan. This training cruise isn’t going to last
forever.”

Eight years of training is
preventing me from punching you in the mouth
, thought Jack.
He reached across the desk and picked up the papers. “Aye, aye,
sir. Will there be anything else?”

“I asked for a
report on the outcome of the search for those three pilots. Where
is it?”

Please, God
, thought
Jack,
help me make
it through this day.
“Sir, we’ve sent the dispatches and
we’re awaiting the replies. That’s all I can say.”

“Find out more,
Mister. And find out fast. I’m tired of waiting. Is that clear
enough for you?”

“Yes, sir.”
Jack stood and walked from the Air Group Commander’s stateroom
without looking back. He closed the door quietly. When he reached
the squadron office, he let himself in with the key, then slammed
the door as hard as he could; some papers were dislodged from the
desk that occupied most of the little compartment. He bent to pick
them up. One was a note to him from Sweeney, the yeoman.

TO: Lt. Comdr.
Hardigan

FROM: YN2
Sweeney

SUBJ: Radio
Traffic / replacement pilots

Sir: Message arrived
yesterday evening saying that two (2) replacement pilots for those
lost in paperwork mess will arrive the day after tomorrow via
highline during normal refueling by oiler.

Very
Respectfully,

Sweeney.

Jack checked
the date and saw that it read yesterday. He knew, though, that
Sweeney had put it there less than an hour ago. He had been in the
office earlier and had not seen it. If only he’d had it five
minutes ago.
Goddamn you, Sweeney.
Jack folded the note and
stuffed it into his pocket, then turned to the training
schedules.

He needed
Duane. Duane would have to know about the changes since he had
helped work up the original schedules. He would also have to notify
the affected pilots. Jack checked his watch. He hated to pull Duane
out of the rack at this time of night, but the work had to be done.
Jack straightened the desk top and left, carefully locking the door
behind him.

He found
Higgins’ stateroom on the deck below and went in without knocking.
Duane’s roommate, a lieutenant who flew with the torpedo squadron,
looked up from the lower bunk where he was reading a letter under a
small bunk light. Duane’s bunk was empty.

“Sorry to
bother you,” said Jack.

“It’s all
right,” said the lieutenant. “I wasn’t asleep.”

“I’m looking
for Mister Higgins.”

“He’s not
here.”

Brilliant
, thought Jack,
I figured he was in
the bottom drawer.
“Any idea where he is?”

“I heard he was
getting into a big poker game somewhere below. I haven’t seen him
for a couple of hours.”

“Thanks,” said
Jack, and left.
That tears it
, he thought.
When you need the guy, you can’t find
him.
He was undoubtedly somewhere in the bowels of the ship,
out of sight and out of touch with the rest of humanity. Jack could
look all night and not find him. He sighed and dug in his pocket
for a cigarette. The pack was empty. Beyond anger now, Jack trudged
back up the ladders. Without thinking, he headed topside. It took
him five minutes to reach the deck edge elevator. Fred Trusteau was
there.

“Well,” said
Jack, speaking to a dark form whose face he couldn’t see. “You’re
getting to be a regular up here.”

“I like the
price of admission,” said Fred. God, but it was good to have the
skipper alone here in the dark.

“The lowest in
town.” Jack looked up and scanned the heavens. He pointed. “That’s
the planet Jupiter.”

“Really?” said
Fred, craning his neck to see where the Skipper was pointing. “How
can you tell?”

“Magical
powers,” said Jack, “and a course in celestial navigation.”

“That must have
been pretty interesting.”

“It was boring
as hell.”

The
conversation spiraled down to nothing. Fred looked toward the
Skipper but could barely see him.

Finally Jack
spoke. “You did well today.”

“That’s what
everyone says.”

“Well?”

“Everyone can’t
be wrong. But it was nothing special, really.”

“I get the
feeling that you’re not overjoyed about being in the
limelight.”

Fred was
stopped for a second, and his hand went automatically to his pocket
for a cigarette. He remembered about smoking in the open and
returned the pack. “It isn’t that, sir. It just seems that all
these guys think about is girls and how they’re going to win the
war single-handedly. They’re nice guys, really. I mean I like them
as people and all. But you have to get away from them once in a
while.”