Wingmen (9781310207280) (45 page)

The party was a
rousing success. Duane had tried to persuade Mat Braden to come,
and he’d finally said that he would try to get away, but he never
showed up. Jack was actually a bit more comfortable not having him
there. He had had several conversations with old friends who had
turned out to be married and it always made him uneasy. Inevitably,
they would say just what Braden had said: It’s only a matter of
time, kid, before you decide that’s what
you
really want—even if deep down
it wasn’t. How could he (or anyone else) know what Jack wanted,
when he himself wasn’t sure?

Duane didn’t
stay for the entire affair. At about six in the evening, just as
things were beginning to warm up, he made a quick phone call from
the booth outside the club and left just as quickly. It probably
wouldn’t be considered a serious social breach, even though it was
as much the commanding officer’s party as it was the new j.g.’s. By
the time Duane left, the party had enough momentum to continue
quite well without him.

More
surprisingly, a totally unexpected guest showed up in the form of
Buster Jennings. With him was one of his really smashing girls, and
nearly everyone was suitably impressed. He drank a toast to the new
j.g.’s, and then a toast to the two decorated men, and then one to
his girl friend, and then one to the Navy, and then one to the
United States of America, and then one to Eleanor Roosevelt. All in
all, he was being a good sport about staying and having a few with
the boys. As Woody Heywood had said, he was indeed a changed man.
If getting shot down did that for a man, Jack was suitably glad it
had happened to Jennings.

The last
liberty boat to the
Constitution
wasn’t crowded. Counting himself, there
were three men from Jack’s squadron on board as it chugged away
from the fleet landing past old Battleship Row toward the East Loch
where the carriers were anchored. Ensign Duggin (who had drunk
himself into a stupor because he hadn’t been among the promoted)
and Fred were with Jack. As the afternoon waned and night came on,
the party had dwindled to a few die-hard drinkers who had no
thought for the morrow, a nonflying day. Jack had got the distinct
impression that Fred wanted everyone to leave so they could be
alone, but it hadn’t worked out. Duggin had stuck it out to the
very last, morose and self-pitying in his drunkenness. So Fred
started drinking coffee hours before it was over, and Jack had
nursed each of his own drinks for at least an hour. But both had
consumed a fair quantity of booze, and they were beginning to feel
it.

The dark harbor
around them was thronged with quiet ships, more than Jack had ever
seen there at one time before. A partly obscured half-moon provided
light with which he could see Fred’s face as they faced each other.
Duggin was stretched out across three of the benchlike seats and
was definitely not conscious. The night air was humid, almost
chilly.

“I think I’m
already developing a hangover,” said Fred.

“You always
were ahead of everyone else,” said Jack.

“Praise the
Lord we aren’t flying tomorrow.”

“You can say
that again.”

“Praise the
Lord…”

The coxswain,
who was standing and steering behind Jack, chuckled out loud. “That
must have been some party, sir,” he said.

Jack turned and
regarded him blearily. “You may think, sailor, that being an
officer is all fun and games. But the truth is, it isn’t. Now take
this party, for instance.”

“Please,” said
Fred. “Take the party.”

The coxswain
laughed.

“They ought to
give us hazardous duty pay for wetting-down parties.” Jack turned
back around and settled his head in his hands.

“That’s all
right,” said the coxswain. “I may not be able to go to the
Officer’s Club, but I don’t have to fly off in those airplanes and
look for Japs.”

“It all evens
out in the end,” said Fred.

Another boat
rumbled past them in the dark.

“Yes, sir, it
does.” The friendly coxswain fell silent, obviously well acquainted
with the foibles of drunken officers. The little boat chugged on
through the smooth waters of the harbor for several minutes. No one
spoke.

Then Jack
looked around and pointed. “She’s not there anymore.”

“Who’s not
where?” asked Fred.

“The
Oklahoma
,”
he said. “She’s not there.”

“They put her
into dry dock,” said the coxswain. He pointed over his right
shoulder. “Back there. They moved her yesterday.”

“That’s a
battleship, right?” asked Fred.

Jack sighed.
“We’ll make a navy man out of you yet, Fred Trusteau.”

“They found
some more of her crew today,” said the coxswain.

“Where were
they?” asked Fred. He didn’t seem to understand.

“They were
dead,” said the coxswain.

“Oh.”

“They say
they’re going to fix her up and send her out again. But I don’t
know. I wouldn’t want to be on a ship where all those men got
killed.”

“Me, neither,”
said Jack. But he was thinking that the sailor had missed his point
entirely, which was that the Navy had changed. He had seen the new
battleships and the new carriers and knew that the old
Oklahoma
was hardly a
vital part of the fleet. Death ship or not, she simply wasn’t
needed any longer.

“Oh, hell,”
said Jack.

“What?” asked
Fred.

“I was going to
ask you to do the cherry-stem trick for me tonight. I forgot to
ask.”

“That’s all
right. I’ll give you a private showing. First chance I get.”

“I’m going to
hold you to that.”

The shattered
Arizona
passed slowly down their port side, but Jack had had enough of
sunken ships and dead sailors. Fred Trusteau seemed uninterested in
the wreck. “How’s the Diary coming?” Jack asked.

“Fine.
But…”

“But what?”

“Some of the
entries are getting kind of long. You know, we get into these big
operations and a lot of action and it takes a lot of time to get
everything down right.”

The admission
caught Jack by surprise. He had no idea Fred was having trouble
with the extra work. “Why didn’t you ask for some help?”

“I didn’t mean
I needed help, Skipper.”

“I’ll get
someone to help out on it,” said Jack. “In fact, I’ll get someone
else to take over the whole thing.” He leaned forward and shook
Fred lightly by the shoulder. “You’ve done your share. I
understand.”

Fred smiled
obligingly. “Okay,” he said. He noticed the bulk of an aircraft
carrier looming on their port side. “Home sweet home,” he said.

“
Constitution
,” said the
coxswain, pulling the boat up smartly to the accommodation
platform. Fred and Jack stepped out. “Good night, sir,” the
coxswain said.

“Same to you,”
said Fred.

“You see any
Japs out there tonight,” said Jack, “you come and get us. We’ll
take care of them for you.”

“You got it,
sir.” The liberty boat hovered close for a second as the coxswain
changed gears, then moved away quickly.

Jack stood on
the platform and straightened his uniform.

Fred nudged him
and said, “Guess what?”

“What?”

“We forgot
Duggin.”

Jack looked for
the liberty boat, but it was gone. He stood still for several
seconds, then shrugged. “He’s in good hands.”

They started up
the ladder.

“Guess what
else?”

“What
else?”

“Look who’s on
deck.”

Jack stopped
climbing and stared hard. It was Lieutenant Overstreet, the man
with the comic book jaw. “Have no fear. I outrank the bastard.”
They continued climbing. “Besides. We’re not out of uniform.” He
laughed, knowing it was true in word only. Their dress white
trousers and blouses had long ago ceased to be presentable. The
party had not been a delicate affair. But as they trudged up the
steps, Fred checked his collar to make sure it was hooked and his
shoulder boards to make sure they were on straight. His medal was
still shiny. He was ready.

“Permission to
come aboard,” said Jack, throwing as sharp a salute as Fred had
ever seen. Without waiting for a reply, both pilots wove across the
quarter-deck, passing the little podium-desk that was the deck
officer’s station.

Overstreet
watched them impassively. “I see the squadron commander had a good
time tonight,” he said.

Jack stopped in
front of him and the two exchanged cursory up and down inspections.
“You bet your sweet ass we did,” Jack said evenly. “You ought to
try it yourself sometime.”

“I do try to
get away occasionally.” Overstreet glanced at Fred. “But I choose
my company carefully. And never overdo it.” He smiled with wan
superiority.

“I’ll remember
that,” said Jack. “Next time I throw a tea party, you’ll be at the
top of the list.”

“Will the
commander require assistance in finding his stateroom?”

“Thanks for the
offer, Lieutenant, but I wouldn’t want to take you away from your
duty on the quarterdeck. Think of all the drunks that might come
aboard while you’re gone.” The petty officer behind Overstreet
snickered aloud, and the OOD silenced him with a single, cold
glance.

“Good night to
you, sir,” Overstreet said.

“Same to you,”
said Jack. “Come on, Fred.” He threw an arm around Fred’s shoulders
and they marched unsteadily off. When they were ten paces from the
quarter-deck, Fred began a refrain that Brogan had sung before:
“I’m an old cowhand from the Rio Grande…” Jack picked it up and
increased the volume, and they bellowed out an entire verse, their
voices echoing and rolling through the great empty hangar.

Fred carefully
removed the medal and laid it next to his wallet on the tiny desk.
Then he stripped off the white uniform and dropped it to the deck
in a heap. Two of the four bunks had sleeping figures in them.
Climbing up to his own, he thought,
It’s only a matter of time before he’ll come to
me. When the time is right, he’ll come
. His euphoria was
finally overcome by alcohol and fatigue, and he fell quickly to
sleep.

Jack removed
his medals and put them away in a little steel case he kept for
them. Locking the case in his safe, he turned down his bunk and sat
on the edge. As he was taking off his shoes, he thought, So far
I’ve done nothing wrong. But we’ve got two nights, two nights
together at the Moana coming up. And no one else need ever know. He
hung his rumpled uniform on a hanger, placed the shoes neatly on
the floor of the metal closet, and went to bed.

“Hiya, Sweets.” Duane
climbed into the car on the passenger side, leaned across the seat,
and gave Eleanor a peck on the cheek.

“My, but aren’t
we cheerful today,” she said. She started the engine and pulled
away from the main gate.

“I’ve got every
right to be.”

“Well, I don’t.
I waited an hour. That hulk with the gun wouldn’t even let me park
in the shade inside the gate.”

“I’m sorry. It
took longer to get away than I thought.”

It had taken
longer because Jack Hardigan wouldn’t let him leave until he had
completed the next week’s training schedules, a task he could have
done on Sunday afternoon. But his irritation slipped away when he
looked at Eleanor. It would be a nice evening.

“I’m letting
you off easy this time,” she said. “I brought a picnic lunch.” She
wore a colorful print dress. A simple white elastic band held her
hair back.

“Potato salad
and fried chicken?”

“No, silly.
Breadfruit and raw fish.”

“Always the
perfect hostess.”

“And I’ve got
the perfect place picked out. A little waterfall and a hidden lake.
Off the beaten track.”