Final Flight (22 page)

“Maybe .

“Oh, I know. What officer ever knows what a
youngster is thinking, what his wife or girlfriend is
writing him? But I would have bet a month’s pay on
this kid. He’s going to the Naval Academy prep
school at the end of this cruise. I even wrote a
letter of recommendation for his application.”

“Terrorists, you think?” Jake asked, chewing
again on a finger- nail.

“People see terrorists in every woodpile. I
don’t know what to think.”

“Thanks for filling me in.”

“Sure. How’s Callie?” They exchanged
pleasantries for a moment, then broke the connection.

Jake was sitting in the forward wardroom going over
paperwork with four of his staff officers when
Toad Tarkington brought his lunch in on a tray and
sat down with his buddies at another table.

“Okay, W. You scribble up responses to these
messages, Jake indicated a pile, “and
Harry, you do these others.” Will Cohen and Harry
March gathered up their respective heaps. “Un-
less a message is marked urgent, we’ll
answer the rest of them after we sail.”

“Yes, sir.”

“After Farnsworth gets the messages typed,
I want you to put him on a boat for the beach. He
deserves liberty and he won’t go as long as he
thinks there’s still something in the in-basket. Kick him
off the ship.”

“You got it.”

“Thanks, guys.” The officers picked up their
papers and departed. Jake raised his voice,
“Mr. Tarkington.”

“Yes, CAG.”

“Come join me for a minute, will you?”

Toad brought his lunch tray with him. When he had
resumed work on his hamburger, Jake said,
“Remember that female reporter that came aboard
in Tangiers? Judith Farrell?”

Toad nodded and mumbled affirmatively
as he chewed. “How would you like to have another go at
her?” Toad’s eyebrows went together and he
swallowed hard. “She’s here? In Naples?”

“Yep. Going to have dinner with me and my wife tonight.
How about you coming along and seeing if you can get her off
my hands.”

“Geez, CA….”

“Now look, you idiot. I’m not asking you to put
the munch on this broad. Just see what you can do to get
her away from me. You did a real nice job of that
in Tangiers and … since you’re a sporting lad,
I thought you might be willing to try again.

“She didn’t think a whole lot of my act,
CAG. When I need something hard to pound my head
against, I can always go down to my room and bop the
bulkhead.”

“Hey, my wife tells me she’s a very nice
lady. Now personally I find that hard to believe,
but it might be true. Maybe she was just playing the
role for us yokels in uniform. You know,
hard-boiled political reporter looking for
dirt.”

“Or playing a role for your wife.”

“Toad, are you going to respond affirmatively
to this request for assistance from a senior
officer?”

“Uh, yessir, I am, since you put it that
way. “You’re a good man, Toad.

There’s just not much demand for good men these days. Wear
a suit and tie. Meet you at seven in the lobby
of the Vittorio Emanuele. That’s a hotel.
Ask a cabbie where it is.”

“You’re picking up the check tonight, aren’t you,
sir?”

“Eat a couple hamburgers before you show up.
That’s an order.”

“Has Majeska said anything yet?” Admiral
Parker asked. “No, he hasn’t.”

“The idiot,” Parker muttered, more to himself than
Jake. He rubbed his forehead with the fingertips of both
hands. “He can’t stay in command of that squadron.”

“He knows that. But the alternative, for him,
seems worse.

Jake sipped his coffee.

“Do you have any ideas what happened out there?”

“I’ve got a theory. But that’s all it is.
No hard evidence. In fact, no evidence at
all.” Jake passed Cowboy the copies of the
gripes from the lost plane’s maintenance logbook.
The admiral read each of them twice.
He looked at Jake quizzically.

“I think the AD! blacked out on him and he
got distracted. Or he had the infrared display on
the AD! and the changing aspect angles disoriented
him. In any event, he quit flying the
airplane, just for a few seconds. Maybe he had
the radar altimeter warning set too low. Or too
high. Then he realized he was going into the water.”

Jake shrugged. “I think he panicked and
ejected.”

“Leaving his BN sitting there?”

“That’s the only thing that would explain his refusal
to talk. He’d rather kiss his career good-bye than
confess he panicked and punched out without warning his
BN. I think he now believes he left Reed
there in the cockpit to. Maybe there wasn’t enough time
to tell Reed. Maybe if he had, they would have both
died when the plane hit the water.”

“Maybe. But if Bull thought that now, he’d
probably be talking.”

Parker tugged at an earlobe and read the gripes
again, then passed them back to Jake. “I think you
should relieve him of his command and notify Washington.
Write a message requesting that he be ordered
to remain aboard until the accident
investigation is completed.”

“I already have, sir.” Jake passed a draft
of the message to the admiral, who read it carefully.

“Have you told Majeska yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Do it. If you’re wrong, maybe he’ll set us straight.”

“What if I’m wrong and he’s really telling the
truth? Perhaps he really doesn’t remember.”

“Then you’ve just made a command decision on the best
information available and mistakenly cut a good man’s
throat. You’ll have to live with it and so will he.”

Jake nodded and placed the message on his lap.
He folded the gripe copies and put them in a
shirt pocket.

The two men sat in silence. Finally Admiral
Parker said, “How’s Callie?”

“Fine.” Jake chewed on his lower lip.

“Listen, Jake. Majeska has given you no
choice with this. You must relieve him.”

“I know.” Jake’s features contorted and he
threw the message on the floor. “God damn his
fucking ass! God damn him to fucking hell! That
kid Reed was going to quit flying since he was
getting out of the navy in six months. And
I talked him into staying in the cockpit. Damn
near ordered him to.” He swore some more. “And then
that fucker Majeska kills the kid and isn’t man
enough to face up to it. And now I have to can his ass.” He
ran out of steam. “Damn it all,” he said softly.

Admiral Parker examined a picture on the
bulkhead, then studied his fingernails. “What does
Callie think about your quitting smoking?”

Jake picked up the message and folded it
carefully. He crossed his legs. “She says
it’s about time.”

Parker grunted. “Bring her out to the ship some
evening and we’ll have dinner together.”

“Sure. Which evening? Can’t do it tonight.”

“Day after tomorrow?”

“Okay.”

“Tell her I said hello.”

“Sure, Cowboy.” Jake got up to leave.
“Sure. She’ll be looking forward to seeing you again.”

“Farnsworth, why the hell are you still here?”

“Uh, I had a few things still to do, CAG.”

Jake knew he would not go ashore until his boss
did. He dropped into the chair beside the yeoman’s
desk.

“Call the A-6 ready room and ask
if Commander Majeska is aboard. If he is,
ask them to pass along that I would like to see him here in
the CAG office as soon as possible.”

Farnsworth had typed the message in Jake’s
hand, so he knew what this was all about. He dialed
the phone and spoke to the A-6 squadron duty
officer as Jake stood and stared at the helmet
hanging upside down from the ceiling.

“He was in the ready room. He’ll be right up.

Jake laid the message on Farnsworth’s
desk and signed it. “When Majeska gets here,
send him into my office. Then I want you to walk out
of here with that message, lock the door behind you, and
take the message to the communications center for
transmission. Then you are to change clothes and go
ashore. That is a direct order.” Jake stood
up.

“Yes sir.”

Jake tilted the helmet on the coathanger, just
in case. Nothing. He gave it a little punch with his
fist, then went into his office and closed the door
behind him.

When Majeska arrived, Jake motioned to a
chair. “Sit down.” The A-6 skipper looked
exhausted, the creases in his face now
deep grooves.

“I’m relieving you of your command, Bull.”

Majeska nodded and studied his hands.

“Look me in the face, Goddammit!”
Majeska’s gaze came up. His lower lip
quivered. Jake took the copies of the gripes from
his pocket and unfolded them. He passed them across
the desk.

Majeska read them slowly, unbelievingly, one
after the other. When he finished with one sheet, he
placed it under the other, and so read them again and again and
again. It was as if there were six or eight sheets of
paper, not just two. Finally he said, “You knew …
that speech the other night to the air wing .. you knew
all along.”

Jake held out his hand for the copies.
Majeska’s chin sank to his chest.

“It was an accident, Bull. You didn’t mean
to kill him.”

“There just wasn’t any time. We were going down so
fast, the water was right there…” I had to get out.
There was no time to think … no time..

“You got some sun this afternoon,” Jake
observed listlessly as Callie straightened his tie.
He was wearing a dark civilian suit.
“You look…” He kissed her forehead.

She cocked her head. “Do you really want to go
to dinner this evening?

You don’t seem to be in the mood.”

“I don’t get to take you out very often. If we
didn’t go, I’d kick myself when I was at sea for
missing this opportunity.”

She searched his face. Satisfied, she said
lightly, “You be nice to Judith this evening.”

“Hey, you know me. I’m charm personified.
By the way, I asked one of the young bachelors from the
ship to join us for dinner.” Jake glanced at his
watch. “He should be in the lobby now.

Callie eyed him obliquely in the mirror as
she checked her lipstick. “I thought you found
Judith abrasive when you met her in Tangiers.”

“Well, she was probably under a lot of
pressure. You said she is very nice. And this kid
I invited is a great guy. Maybe they’ll like
each other.”

“Abrasive?”

“All business. She wanted me to comment on things
I’m not qualified to comment on and she wasn’t taking
no for an answer. It was like she was out to write a
nasty article about prison camps and had
stopped by our stalag for some material.”

“She has to do her job.” Callie collected
her purse and stepped into the hallway. “What’s the
bachelor’s name?”

“Toad Tarkington.” Jake turned off the
lights and checked that the door would lock behind them.

“That’s odd. How did he get a nickname like
Toad?” Jake pulled the door shut with a bang.
“He has warts.”

“You’ve met my husband, Judith?” Callie
smiled. “Oh yes. Captain Grafton.”

Jake was surprised at the firmness of her
handshake. “Good ta see ya again,” he muttered just
as Toad came out of the bar with a drink in his hand.
“Here comes our other dinner guest. Lieutenant
Tarkington, this is my wife, Callie, and you may
remember Judith Farrell.”

“Mrs. Grafton.” Tarkington shook
Callie’s hand perfunctorily, then nodded at
Farrell. “Hello.”

He received a polite nod and a cool
appraisal from Judith Farrell.

“Well, folks,” Jake said. “Let’s go
get some dinner.” He took Callie’s arm and led
them toward the elevators. There was a
small crowd waiting for the express elevator to the
restaurant on the top floor of the building. The
door opened and the people in front of them climbed
aboard. There was obviously room for two more, but not
for four.

“You go ahead,” Judith urged Jake and
Callie. “We’ll catch the next one.” Since
a smiling Japanese tourist was holding the door
open, Jake led Callie through the door, nodding at
the man.

Judith stood silently beside Toad, not looking
at him. He kept his gaze focused on the floor
lights above the polished metal elevator doors.

They waited. Several minutes later the doors
opened again. They were the only passengers this time.

On the way up, Judith said, “Nice that you could
join us this evening.”

“Captain Grafton asked me to,” he said
matter-of-factly. “I suppose he’s worried
that I might ask too many questions. And Callie is
such a nice person. I wonder what she sees in
him?”

“I’ll have you know,” Toad shot back heatedly,
“that the CAG is one of the finest naval officers I
have ever met. He’s a gentleman in every
sense of the word. He’s also a genius with an
airplane. He’s more than capable of handling a
twit reporter who-was…”

“I’ll quote you on that,” she said lightly as the
door opened, revealing Jake and Callie standing there
waiting for them. Judith grinned broadly at the
Graftons and murmured to Toad as she stepped
past, “Buy a paper.”

Toad was still gaping at her back when the
elevator door started to close. He elbowed it
open again, his face twisted with fury. No one
noticed. Jake Grafton and the ladies were already
following the maitre d’. The women giggled together as
they proceeded toward a table in the corner with a view
of the harbor, and he caught Judith Farrell
glancing at his reflection in the windows that lined the
wall. Only then did it dawn on Toad
Tarkington that he had just been had.

“Oh, so you’re a linguist?” Judith said,
looking at Callie. The two women had been
carrying the conversation. Judith had been gently
probing Callie about her life without her sailor
husband while Toad sipped his wine and poked his fork
morosely at the garbanzo beans in his salad.
Jake Grafton seemed content to listen,
observe, and nibble, speaking only when spoken to.
Whenever Callie spoke, however, her husband
listened attentively, and whenever she smiled or
laughed, his face relaxed into a grin.

“Yes,” Callie said, her eyes seeking
Jake. “I’ve taught in several colleges near
where Jake’s been stationed, and now I’m translating
for a government agency in Washington. It’s
temporary, but with Jake’s career that’s the way it
has to be.”

“Is that fair?” Judith asked, looking at
Jake, who was gazing contemplatively at his
wife. “Captain?” she added.

“What?” Jake said, finally realizing that he had
been addressed. Judith repeated the question and noticed
that Callie’s hand was now on top of her husband’s.

“Probably not,” Jake said. “I never thought
so. But that’s the way Callie wanted it.” He
shrugged, and turned his hand over and opened it.

He smiled at Callie. Their hands remained
together.

Judith Farrell grinned broadly and sat
back comfortably in her chair.

She even found a smile for Toad. Then the
waiter brought their dinner.

Over dessert the conversation somehow turned to the
political situation in the Mediterranean.
“Captain,” Judith said, “what will the president
do about the kidnappings in Lebanon? Will he use the
navy?”

“Is this off the record, or on?”

“Background. Not for attribution.”

“Nope. If you want background, go
to Washington. They pay flacks to give reporters
background. I don’t want you to even hint in
print that you have ever heard of jake Grafton, or
even know “Jake,” said Callie.

“She’s just doing her job.”

“So am I.”

“Okay. Off the record. A never-said-it
noninterview.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what the
president or anyone else in government will do,”
Jake said and sipped his coffee. Toad chuckled,
then swallowed it when Judith glanced at him. “Do
you know anything about the terrorist boat incident
several weeks ago?”

“You mean the one where the boat tried to attack the
task group off Lebanon?”

“Yes.”

“I know about it.”

“What can you tell me about it?”

“Judith, I think you’re being coy. You know very
well I flew that mission and later answered questions
at a press conference. You’ve undoubtedly read some
of the stories. You should have been at the press conference.
We missed you.”

“Nothing else to say? Is that it?”

“I’m not going to sit at the dinner table and tell
war stories. That’s a bad habit old men fall
into. Ask me some questions about something I am
qualified to comment on, off the record.” The waiter
delivered the check and Jake palmed it.

“I’ll help with that,” Judith said and reached for
her purse. “My treat,” Jake said.

“We should go dutch. I can pay my way.

“Hey, if you aren’t spending a dollar a
minute, you aren’t having any fun. Tonight I’m
having fun. This one’s on me.

“Is he always like this?” Judith asked Callie.
“When he’s on good behavior,” Callie told
her. “Okay, I have a question you are qualified to comment
on. Do you think the law should be changed so that women can
serve on all navy ships, in all career
specialities?”

“Why not? There isn’t a job in the navy that a
woman couldn’t do.”

“Come on, CAG,” Toad scoffed. “You can’t
mean that! Can you imagine having women in the ready
rooms? In the wardroom? The navy would never be the
same.

“It would be different,” Jake acknowledged. “But
so what? We need their talent and brains, same as
we need the abilities of the blacks and Chicanos.
Sexual segregation is the same as racial
segregation. People use the same arguments to justify
it. People will see that someday.”

“You surprise me, Captain,” Judith
Farrell said softly. “Me, too,” Toad sighed
gloomily.

Judith picked up her purse and stood.
“Thank you for the lovely evening, Callie,
Captain Grafton.” She walked away without a
glance at Toad.

“Toad Tarkington,” Callie said. “You owe
Judith and me an apology.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by that, Mrs.
Grafton,” Toad said, reddening slightly. “But
the CAG wanted me to get rid of her and I
wasn’t making much progress on the
romantic angle.” The whites of Callie’s
eyes became very noticeable and her lips compressed
to a thin, straight line.

“Thanks a heap, Toad,” Jake said disgustedly.

“Uh, well, I guess I’d better be shoving
off.” Tarkington rose hastily.

“Thanks for the fine meal. “Night, Mrs.
Grafton.” He tossed the last phrase over his
shoulder as he marched for the elevators.

“Callie, I’m sorry. I thought Judith and
Toad would hit it off.”

“Oh no you didn’t. You don’t like her.”

“She’s okay. A little strident. But she’s a
reporter and I don’t need any reporters. I
was hoping Toad could waltz her off for drinks and
whispers, and you and I could be alone.”

Callie giggled. “She had you stereotyped.”

“Yeah, as a Mark One, Mod Zero military
Neanderthal. All Toad did was act like one.”

Judith Farrell sat in a stall in the
ladies” room off the lobby with her purse on her
lap. She smoothed a thousand-lire note and wrote
on it in block letters, “The rabbit was good.
You must try it soon. She placed the pen back in
her purse and made some noise with the roll of
toilet paper. She flushed the toilet, and after
washing her hands, handed the thousand-lire note to the rest
room attendant on her way out.

The street was too dimly lit. Jake swore to himself when he realized he was not doing to well adjusting;
He stumbled twice and felt Callie’s arm on his
elbow.

“Ha! How does it feel to lead a blind man?”

“You just need some practice in this light.”

“Like hell. I just need more light.”

“Don’t we all,” she said mildly and tightened
her grip on his arm.

“Why are we out here, anyway?”

“Because we both needed a walk.”

He relaxed a little when he realized he could
see, though not very well.

How the devil had he flown like this? It was a
miracle he was still alive. He snorted again.

“Maybe it would be better if you put your hand on
my arm and let me stay about a half step ahead.”
They tried it, and it did work better. “See, you can
feel me step up or down.”

“Yeah,” Jake said sourly.

“Don’t you wish you had eaten your carrots all
these years?” Jake found himself smiling. He swung
her around and hugged her. Four blocks further on
they came to a small bistro and sat at one of the
outside tables under an umbrella labeled
“Campari,” after a local wine. They each ordered
a glass. Light from the window behind them fell upon the
table and traffic rattled by.

“Do you want to stay in the navy now that you can’t
fly?”

“I don’t know. That beach house sounds awfully
good right now. But I’m not sure how it would wear in
six months or a year. I’m afraid I’d go
stir crazy.”

“You could always find something to do. Perhaps open a
shop. Or go back to school for a master’s. Don’t
think you’re going to sit and wait to grow old.” Her
tone implied that if he did think that, he had
better rethink it. “Perhaps you could teach classes at
some civilian flight school.”

“I don’t want to see and smell and taste it and
not be able to touch it.” He sipped the wine. “But I
guess I’ve nothing to complain about.

Flying has been pretty good to me.

“I guess it has,” she said. “You’re
still alive, in one piece, reasonably sane.”

“Hmmm,” he muttered, seeing Mad Dog
Reed sitting in his office, explaining why he should go
on to other things. God, how many of those faces had
he seen in the last twenty years? So many dead men,
so many withered, malnourished, blighted marriages, so
many kids with only part-time fathers or no father at
all, so many talents squandered and dreams shattered
when careers went on the rocks or promotions
failed to arrive. What had all this waste … what
had it bought?

And Jake Grafton? What had he spent the
last twenty years doing?

Driving airplanes! Dropped some bombs in
Vietnam, and we lost that one.

Taught a bunch of guys to fly, pushed a few
mountains of paper, and drilled a lot of holes in
the sky. Made a lot of landings. Got promoted.
What else? Oh yes, spent fifteen years
married to a beautiful woman, but only was there about
half the time.

And buried some guys. Attended too many
memorial services and too many changes of command,
too many retirement ceremonies, made too many
false promises about keeping in touch.

“I’m glad,” he said at last, “that you think
I’m reasonably sane.

An hour later they watched the moon set from their
hotel balcony. As it sank toward the sea it
appeared embedded in the clouds, which glowed with a golden
light.

“You know,” Jake said, “I guess it’s the
flying I’ve always went back to.” The lower edge
of the moon slid into the sliver of open space between the
clouds and the sea. The sky with all of its moods and
all of its faces was always new, never the same
twice. But the flying, the flying-the stick in his right
hand and the throttles in his left, the rudder pedals under
his feet, soaring as he willed it with the engines
pushing-the flying was pure and clean and truely
perfect. When strapped to an ejection seat, encased
in nomex and helmet and mask and gloves and
survival gear, sucking the dry oxygen with its hint
of rubber, he was free in a way that earth-bound
humans could never understand. As he sat here tonight he
could feel the euphoria and freedom once again as the
flying came flooding back and he flew through an
infinite sky under an all-knowing sun. Irritated
with himself, he shook the memory off. “For what?
I’m no wiser, no richer, certainly not
a better person. Why in hell did I keep
going back?”

“Because you couldn’t leave it, Jake,” Callie
said softly. “I’m not going to miss the night cat
shots, though. I’ve had enough of those to last three
lifetimes. I’m not going to miss the damned paperwork
or all those long, miserable days at sea with no
mail. And the ruthless, implacable bastards that make
it all happen-the “results matter, everything
else is bullshit” crowd-I won’t miss them
either.” He realized he was feeling his pockets for
cigarettes. “I guess the bag is empty.
Maybe I just never had any answers and am finally
old enough to realize it.”

“Whom are you trying to convince?”

“Myself, I guess.” He examined his hands with the
chewed fingernails, then remembered Majeska doing
that not many hours before, so he stuffed his hands into his
pockets. “We all go through life making choices,
and each of us has to live with his choices, good, bad,
or indifferent. But occasionally, every now and then, someone
makes a mistake and finds that he can’t live with
it. And he can’t correct it.”

“Not you, I hope?”

“A guy on the ship.”

“Someone I know?”

“Yes.” He slouched deeper into the chair, his chin
almost on his chest, and stared at his feet stretched out
before him.

“That’s what religion is for, Jake. It
teaches us to live with mistakes we think we can’t
live with.” She touched his arm. “That’s God’s
grace.