The survivor (2 page)

In the squadron oflBce the CO. and the exec were talking about Adam Land. "Land in trouble again?" the exec asked.

The CO. picked up a message sHp and looked at it. ''Must be. And this time we can't help him.

Charlie.'' The CO. slid a slip of paper across the desk to the exec.

The exec read it and whistled softly through his teeth.

The CO. took the paper back and locked it in the wall safe. 'Those orders came straight to me. They didn't even go through the group commander, Charlie."

"I wonder what he's done now?" the exec asked. ''V^at can a guy do to rate top-secret orders confining him to his quarters?"

"That's what worries me," the CO. said. "This is no Httle thing. It's not even an ordinary general coiut-martial thing—that wouldn't have to be secret, even if this was a moral turpitude charge. Whatever Land has done, it's very big and very serious."

"I'm no admirer of Land, as you are, Skipper," the exec said, "but stiU I can't see him involved in anything big. Breaking ciuf ew, okay, or going to some beach that's out of bounds, or missing flights. But nothing big enough to rate that." He pointed to the locked safe. "Land's still wet behind the ears."

"I wish there was something I could do to help the Idd—" the CO. said, looking out the window.

"You read the last sentence, didn't you?" the exec said. " 'These orders are not to be questioned nor discussed.'"

"That's why I can't help him," the CO. said.

"I wouldn't miss Land much if this thing got him clean out of the squadron," the exec said.

"I would," the skipper said.

"So he can fly a plane real fine. At Pensacola and

San Diego and here. But nobody's shot at him.**

"Nobody's shot at any of 'em," the skipper said. "Except you and me."

"Well, I don't know," the exec said. "Land's attitude is what grabs me."

"So he's a playboy ... on the ground. But he flies the airplane and hits the target better than most of them. That's what counts."

"If a guy doesn't care—and our boy Land doesn't even know there's a war on—what's going to keep him around when things get rough?"

The CO. looked at the exec and was worried. "Don't you think he'll stick around?"

"Look," the exec said, "I don't know what any-body'll do when the sky starts filling up with those AA bursts and you've got ten Zeroes on your tail. But it just seems to me that the rest of the pilots are interested in getting on with the war. That sort of thing. All Land is interested in is sliding around in the surf on a greasy plank and showing off to the wahines."

The CO. thought about that for a while, and it bothered him, but then he said, "CharUe, I know you've got to have all this stuff on the ground-discipline and training and all that. But to me the important thing is up in the airplane. Deliver what they tell you to deliver, and if something gets in your way, knock it down. What difference does it make what Land thinks about—or doesn't think about—as long as he delivers what they give him to deUver?"

"Okay," the exec said, "but when I had to deliver

something it seems to me that it took all my little brain could manage just to do that. There wasn't any room in it for girls and surfboards and the shape of waves."

The CO. studied the exec's face for a while, trying to see all the way into his mind. Finally he asked quietly, "Are you trying to tell me that Land is a coward, Charlie?"

"A coward? Who knows? Maybe we're all cowards. But Land is such a kidr

"Aw, Charhe, they're all kids," the CO. said and looked out the window at the squadron pilots walking toward the ready room. "That's the trouble with a war," he said, talking to himself. "It takes all the young kids and expects them to be men right now." He turned back to the exec. "That's the only trouble with Land—if it's a trouble. He just doesn't pretend to be a man as hard as the rest of em.

"Well, I think this is what they call an academic discussion," the exec said. "I think this squadron has seen the last of Adam Land."

They both turned to look at the door as someone knocked. Then the CO. said quietly, "No discussion of this thing, Charlie. I'm going to give him the word and that's all—come in!"

Adam Land, still in the nylon flight suit, came in, closed the door, and stood at a careless attention.

The CO. looked up at him and had a quick, disconnected thought. Adam would make a good model for a recruiting poster saying The Navy Needs You. He was taU and rugged, with brown

hair bleached almost gold by all that sitting around on the beach he did. He had a good face, too. Not handsome, hardly even good-looking—just a good, simple face, untroubled, a Uttle amused. Happy.

Land's blue eyes bothered the CO. a Uttle. They were so deep blue and clear and warm and very, very young. There was no trace of concern in them. They seemed to look out upon a world totally without fears or agonies, trouble or—war.

'^You want to see me. Skipper?" Adam asked.

**At ease," the skipper said. Suddenly he dreaded giving Land the message and, for a moment, understood how really hard it must be for parents to deny their children something which the child really wanted. "How was the flight?'* he asked, putting the thing o£F.

"Like a bird. What*s on your mind, Skipper?*

The exec said, trying to keep the sourness out of his voice, "You got a date or something?"

"You know it. This one's got every brick in the right place."

Such a happy Idd, the CO. thought, with your blue eyes shining in anticipation. And I'm going to let you have it, right between those blue eyes. "Adam," the CO. said, "you're confined to your quarters until further notice."

The CO. watched him as, for a second, he didn't even understand the words. Then, when he did, it was as though he had been hit by a poleax —right between the eyes. "What?" Adam asked in a low, unbeHeving voice. Then as he really began to understand it he cried, "Oh nol That can't be,

Skipper. IVe got a date with the prettiest girl in Hawaii, and the surfs perfect."

**You're confined to your quarters, Adam."

''Skipper, there must be a mistakel I haven't done anything. Lately. Not in the squadron. Nowherel"

"I'm not going to discuss it, Adam. Report to your quarters and stay there."

"But I haven't done anything, Skipper. HonestI Nothing! I don't rate this."

But the CO. only looked at him, and he knew there was nothing more.

*What have I done?" Adam said in a weak, almost childish voice, as he turned and walked slowly out.

"Adaml" the CO. called as Adam was closing the door.

"Yes, sir?"

"You are not to discuss this with anyone either."

"Aye, aye, sir," Adam said listlessly and closed the door.

For a moment the exec and the CO. sat there looking at the closed door.

"You see," the exec said. "He's a kid."

The CO. sat for a while looking out the window, and then he swung around to his desk, all business. "We'll need a replacement pilot, Charlie. I've got a feeling Land is out of the squadron."

"Okay. Ill go over to ComAirPac this afternoon and see what they've got in the pool."

"Charlie," the CO. said, "try to find one who can fly an airplane the way Land could. Even if he's just a—kid."

OUT in the bright sunshine Adam Land was angry at himself. Here he was, ahnost twenty-one years old and behaving like a kid. He was so close to having tears in his eyes he walked along with his head down so people wouldn't notice. **Grow upr he told himself. "Or youll be crying like a baby right here in the middle of the squadron area. Grow upl"

"Greetings, Adam* a voice said beside him.

Adam raised his head only high enough to see the leather name tag on the guy's flight suit "Hi, pal," he said, clearing his throat.

"Going ashore?'*

"No."

The man beside him stopped walking for a moment and said in a voice of exaggerated surprise, "The great lover not going ashorel What can this mean?"

"Cut it out,** Adam said.

The man fell in step again. **What's eating you?"

"Nothing."

"What'd the skipper want?"

*To pin a medal on me."

"Good-looking medal," the guy said, looking at Adam's chest. "Real good-looking. E Pluribus Wahine. What's the matter? Did oo break oo lil surfboard, Adam?"

"You got real good-looking teeth," Adam said, *but they wouldn't look good where I'm about to push 'em."

**Man, you re in trouble," the guy said.

Adam stopped and looked at him. "WHiat do you mean?"

*Waitl Hold hardl Take it easy, pall" the guy said, backing away from Adam.

''What do you laiow about my troubles?" Adam asked.

"Nothing, good buddy. Nothing."

*You said, I was in trouble."

"I mean, just the way you're acting. You look kind of down, that's all. Shook. If you got trouble, I don't know anything about it"

Adam started walked again, his hands shoved down in the deep pockets of the flight suit. "No trouble," he said. "No trouble at alL*

ADAM Land was in bachelor oflBcers* quarters -tV talking on the phone to the girl, Gloria, when the Marine Corps jeep drove up and stopped out-

"Listen, honey, I told youl I can t get out there today . . . Why? Because they're going to pin a medal on me for heroism, is why . . . But tomorrow I'll be there . . . Well, maybe not tomorrow.. .."

As he went on talking, the driver of the jeep, a sergeant in the Marine Corps, came into BOQ and asked at the desk where he could find Lieutenant (j.g.) Adam Land, and the man at the desk pointed at the phone booth. The sergeant, a .45 automatic in a holster strapped to his leg, walked over to the phone booth and rapped on the glass door. Adam,

Still talking to Gloria, turned and looked at him with irritation. The sergeant ignored this and rapped again.

Adam opened the door a crack and said, "Go away, Sergeant. I am talking to a girl. You know, one of those pretty things." Then he closed the door. The sergeant pulled it open and said, **! have orders for you, Lieutenant.**

"Listen, honey,** Adam said to Gloria, *T11 call you right back, hear? Tve got to go win the war now." Then he hung up and glared at the sergeant. "You interrupted me in a conversation vital to the war effort. Sergeant.**

The sergeant looked at him with the way sergeants have—not exactly insulting, nor even personal. It's as though you, as a person, dont exist. You're just a unit in the sergeant's mind.

"The jeep's outside. Lieutenant," the sergeant said.

'TTiHis MABiNE SERGEANT is," Adam Land thought: J. "(a) tongue-tied; (b) too dirnib to talk (but he sure didn*t look dimib); (c) just not very talkative.**

"Where*d you say we were going, Sergeant?" Adam asked innocently.

"I didn*t. Lieutenant," the sergeant said, keeping his eyes on the main road to Pearl Harbor.

"Do you know where we're going. Sergeant?"

**I do, Lieutenant."

"And how long are we going to stay there, Ser-

geant? I don't ask this idly, but only because I've got a date at Makaha and the tide's turning."

"Long enough, Lieutenant," the sergeant said, stopping the jeep at the Pearl Harbor gate where the marine sentry looked in, read a slip of paper the sergeant held up, sahited, and let them pass.

As they drove along the harbor front, Adam w^as pleased to see that almost all the damage done by the enemy attack had been cleaned up. The first time he'd seen Pearl it had made him sad and sick and angry. The ships were still out there in the water, mangled and ruined; Ford Island was still a mess, with hangars burned out and skeletons of planes pushed into a somehow shameful heap.

The sergeant stopp>ed the jeep in the marine area and waited until Adam got out, then led him into one of the camouflaged buildings. To another sergeant at a desk the first sergeant said, *This is the lieutenant, Smitty. Wlien you get through with him, let me know."

'Wilco. Come on. Lieutenant."

'Whither away?" Adam asked.

"In here," the sergeant said, and opened the door to a small bare room. As Adam came in, the sergeant stood at the door. "Take off all your clothes, everything except your dog tags. Put your gear in that box, tie it up, seal it, put your name and duty station and serial number on it and turn it in to me, sir."

"Look," Adam said, wondering if he was being pushed around. "I'm wearing about everything I own, including two weeks' pay."

"It will all be locked un by the supply officer and returned to you ... if the occasion warrants. Otherwise it will be sent, intact, to your next of kin."

''Come on!'' Adam said. "Fun's fun, but let's don't get carried away. What's all this about?"

"Orders from headquarters, sir. Just strip do^vn.'* The sergeant looked him over. "Six two, one-sixty, forty-six, twenty-eight, thirty-four, size ten D. Rightr

"You're very good, Sergeant, but I think I'U just go back to my tailor."

The sergeant said ominously, "I wouldn't keep them waiting. Lieutenant," and started for the door. "Make that in Hght\veight gabardine. Sergeant, with a Httle break at the cuffs."

The sergeant looked at him bleakly and closed the door. He was back in less than two minutes with a laundry bag which he dumped on the floor, saying, "Here's your outfit, Lieutenant."

Adam opened the strings of the bag and shook its contents out. There was a suit of marine fatigues, the blouse and trousers, now stiff with newness and still folded, the dirty-looking green cloth still a little shiny. There were two pairs of underpants dyed the same dirty green, and two green skivvy shirts. There were two pairs of the blotchy green socks and one pair of the heavy marine boots they called "boondockers." There was one green web belt with the brass buckle blackened with something. And, worst of all, a pair of stiff, flat canvas leggins.

And, of course, the two pairs of skivvy tie-ties, also dyed green.

Since he had nothing else to put on, he got dressed in this ridiculous outfit, not knowing that he had the leggins on backward and, although the things fitted him very well, he felt like that Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz. The fatigues were so new and so starched that they crackled when he walked and stood out from him in stiff creases.