Wingmen (9781310207280) (56 page)

“We came here
together,” said Jack. “I like to keep track of my men as closely as
possible, especially when we might have to leave on short
notice.”

“I thought you
were just being considerate.”

“That, too.” He
turned to face her squarely. “Now then, what was it you wanted to
talk about?”

Eleanor took a
drink and set the glass down firmly on the bar. “Well,” she said,
“I see you want to be direct.” When Jack said nothing, she
continued. “I’ll come right to the point,” she said. “I like you a
lot, Jack.” Her eyes did not waver as she said this. “No, that’s
not strong enough. I could love you very easily. You’re so much
like Stan—and he was everything to me.”

Jack watched
her attentively, not knowing what to say.

“I think I told
you before that I might have to find someone else.” She paused and
Jack nodded. “I guess what I really want to say is that there
is
someone
else now and if I know my men at all, he’s getting ready to
propose. Should I say yes, Jack?”

Her question
caught him completely by surprise and it took him several seconds
to realize that it had a double meaning: Should she say no to this
other man because there was a chance in the future of saying yes to
Jack? But he had never even considered marriage to a woman before,
even before there was Fred. And yes, impossibly, Fred did have a
great deal to do with his answer.

“Do you love
him?” It was an automatic response and he instantly regretted
having said it.

“Love?” she
said, sarcastic and humorous at the same time. “Is that the number
one ingredient of a successful marriage?”

“I wouldn’t
know,” he said kindly.

“I would,” she
said. She took another sip of her Tom Collins. “Need—is sometimes
more important.”

“Need is
sometimes more important,” he repeated softly, intrigued with the
hidden meaning of those words.

“I know this
isn’t the correct, traditional manner by which a lady determines
the depth of a relationship,” Eleanor said, now very proper, “but I
somehow feel it
is
important I know how you and I feel about each
other before I say yes or no to—the other man.” Jack saw, even in
the dim light of the bar, that she was blushing fiercely. Nothing
else about her face gave away her embarrassment.

“Eleanor,” he
said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,
Jack. I just feel that, times being what they are, it just isn’t
wise to be overly cautious, if you know what I mean.” Jack looked
away from her. Fred had come back into the lounge with an older man
wearing the shoulder boards of a lieutenant commander. They walked
up to the bar and ordered drinks. Jack had seen the man before but
couldn’t place him.

“I know what
you mean, Eleanor. Really I do. Caution was never one of my strong
points.”

She looked back
at him. The embarrassment was gone.

“I’m afraid
what I said before still stands,” he said.

The lieutenant
commander at the bar with Fred was drinking hard and talking loud.
Eleanor watched Jack’s eyes flicker between herself and Fred. For
several long seconds, then, she looked into her drink. She shook
her head.

“Okay,” she
said finally. She reached over and took his hand. “Still
friends?”

Jack smiled.
“Still friends.”

“Did I tell you
about the property I have over on the west shore? Sunsets,” she
leaned back her head and laughed easily, “sunsets you wouldn’t
believe. If the Army ever gives the islands back to the civilians,
I’m going to build the most outrageously expensive house in the
world there.” Jack laughed with her, keeping an eye cocked toward
Fred and his guest at the other end of the bar. For another fifteen
minutes Jack and Eleanor talked of trivialities and had one more
round of drinks.

Fred literally
ran into Lieutenant Commander Deal in the main entrance to the
lobby of the Royal Hawaiian. Fred was leaving, Deal was arriving,
and both stood aside to allow an army officer with a Wac to use the
door first. Then both tried to cross the threshold in opposite
directions, at the same time. Only when he had apologized did Fred
recognize Deal. His first impression was that Deal had grown ten
years older since the last time they talked, nearly eight months
before. Deal’s rumpled dress khaki uniform heightened the
impression.

“Pardon me,
sir,” said Fred.

“I know you,”
said Deal, obviously searching his memory.

“Trusteau. Fred
Trusteau.” They shook hands.

“What are you
doing here?” Deal asked.

“Passing time,”
Fred said. He nodded toward the lounge. “Buy you a drink?”

“Why not? I was
headed that way myself.”

The two pilots
fell into step beside each other.

“I didn’t think
there were any other air groups around the islands,” said Fred.
“Aren’t you on the
Cowpens
?”

“Yeah,” said
Deal. They entered the bar. “You?”

“The
Constitution
,” Fred answered. “She took a torpedo in
the Kwajalein operation.”

“Oh, yeah.”
They reached the bar, pushed aside the stools, and stood like
western movie cowboys, feet on the railing, elbows on the bar.
“That was tough luck. You seen any action yourself?”

“A little.
Nothing important. How about yourself?”

The bartender
arrived and they ordered.

“The goddamn
brass keeps the little carriers doing the goddamn CAP work while
the heavies do all the sweeps,” Deal replied. “You should know
that.”

“Yeah,” said
Fred. “That’s too bad.” He had heard that bitch before and tried to
imagine what it would be like now in a squadron with a skipper like
Deal, as the weeks at sea went by and the squadron did nothing but
fly Combat Air Patrol for the bigger carriers. How would the new
guys take it? Silver? Was that his name?

“How’s Silver
doing?”

Deal snorted
and drained his bourbon. “Chickenshit. No goddamn guts at all.” He
pounded on the bar with his palm. “They didn’t give my boys a
chance. They’re still out there flying CAP like a bunch of goddamn
trainees.”

“They’re still
out there?” asked Fred. “How come you’re…”

“New orders.
I’m heading stateside.” Deal made the pronouncement as though it
were a consignment to hell itself. He pounded on the bar again.
“Barkeep,” he bellowed. The bartender arrived and refilled his
glass, which Deal promptly emptied into his mouth. “A frigging
training command,” he said. “They’re gonna have me teaching kids
like you how to find their asses in a cockpit.”

“That’s too
bad,” said Fred. He looked over at Jack and Eleanor. They were
laughing together pleasantly. He looked back at Deal, thinking that
he would like to tell him he had five kills to his credit, but that
Deal probably wouldn’t believe him.

“You just keep
filling that sucker up,” Deal was informing the bartender as he
received yet another shot of liquor. Fred was only halfway through
his first drink and was wishing he had ordered Scotch. Lately
bourbon made him want to throw up.

“You take that
little action last week,” Deal said. “You know, that one with the
radar turkey where the two Hellcats clobbered that Jap torpecker
formation.” He slammed down a fist to add emphasis. “Now that was a
goddamn interception! I knew that buzzard Jennings. He’s the only
one with the guts to do a job like that. I told our CAG we should
try a bat team, but he axed the whole frigging thing. Said he
didn’t have time. The chickenshit coward.”

Fred smiled to
himself and said, “It wasn’t such a good idea anyway. Night ops
keep the ship awake when they could use the sleep.”

“What do you
know about it?”

“Jennings was
my group C.O. That was
Constitution
’s action.”

“Hell. At least
it was constructive. Look at the Japs they killed. Ten or twelve at
least.”

“Five,” said
Fred, “maybe six.” He looked back at Jack and Eleanor. They
appeared to be saying good-by.

“It was still
something,” Deal said.

“It sure was,”
Fred replied. Eleanor stood on tiptoes and kissed Jack’s cheek. The
two parted. Jack came toward them. “Yes, it sure was.”

Jack arrived
and clapped Fred on the shoulder. “How’s it going, Trusty?” he
asked. “Hello, Deal.”

“Hardigan.”
Deal turned back to his drink.

“Mister Deal’s
headed back to the States,” said Fred.

“Lucky stiff,”
said Jack. “New air group?”

“Training
command,” offered Fred.

“You know,
Deal, you should have kept this young man here.” Jack slapped
Fred’s shoulder. “You know that night interception last week with
the bat team?”

“We were just
talking about that,” said Fred.

“What of it?”
grunted Deal.

“Trusty here
was one of the F6s. Got two of the Bettys himself.”

“Oh, yeah?”
Deal turned and gave Fred an up and down, disbelieving look.

“Added to his
previous three kills—”

“Three?”

“That makes him
about the hottest damn fighter pilot in the whole fleet.”

“Congratulations,” Deal mumbled. Fred felt very uncomfortable. It
wasn’t much fun putting Deal into a spot like this. (But he was
sort of glad the skipper had done it.)

“You about
ready to head back, Fred?”

Fred drained
his glass. “Sure. Let’s go.”

“Good luck in
your new job, Deal,” said Jack.

But Deal didn’t
reply. Jack and Fred left the Royal Hawaiian together.

After an
eleven-day layover in Majuro Lagoon in the Marshall Islands, Task
Force Fifty-eight sailed again for hostile waters. One task group
of three carriers left to cover the amphibious assault on Eniwetok
and the remaining nine, with their growing escort of battleships,
cruisers, and destroyers, headed southwest at best speed for fabled
Truk, home port of the Combined Fleet and the site of strong aerial
power. At the time it was not known, even at the highest levels,
whether or not Truk would later be seized for our own use. The only
thing certain about the mission was that it was the first time
carrier air power was being required to neutralize a massive
concentration of land-based air strength. Many pilots
understandably expected to die, and all expected a fight.

J.E. Hardigan,
Commander. USN (ret.),
A Setting of Many
Suns:
The Destruction of the Imperial Navy
[The Naval
Institute Press, 1962], p. 275.

10 February 1944
: U.S.S.
Constitution
, designated TG 58.3.4, sortied from
Pearl Harbor in company with U.S.S.
Oakland
and five destroyers. Force
direction of advance is approximately 210 true although actual
destination has not yet been announced. Squadron strength includes
thirty-two pilots and thirty-three aircraft. During downwind
approach leg, aircraft piloted by Ensign Patrick collided with
aircraft piloted by Lt. (j.g.) Smith, losing most of its rudder and
forcing Patrick to bailout. He was picked up by destroyer
Harwell
shortly thereafter. Lt. (j.g.) Smith landed safely.

12 February 1944
:
Aircraft piloted by Lt. (j.g.) Heckman crashed when landing as a
result of applying instead of cutting power. Aircraft caught the
top of the barrier and flipped, landing upside down on parked SBD
of VB-20. Mister Heckman is in critical condition following
surgery. Seaman Apprentice Samuel Crabbe was killed instantly.
There was no fire.

“Jack.” Boom
Bloomington, the new air group commander, waved his arms about as
if to ward off the evil spirits in his stateroom. “Jack,” he said,
“what the
hell
is wrong? What the hell is
wrong
with your pilots?”