“I want a guy who really wants to fight.”
Sammy tossed the magazine on the desk and laced his fingers together behind his head as he gazed at Jake speculatively. “Don’t do anything crazy, Jake. Don’t even think about it. You’re the guy who figures every damn angle before the chips are down.”
“I’m tired of bombing trees, Sammy.”
“If you let the war get personal, you get dead real quick. What you really need is to get drunk and laid this time in port. I thought I did, but nowhere near as badly as you.”
“Yeah.”
“It ebbs and flows, shipmate. A hot woman and a cold beer will put all this in proper perspective.”
After dinner that evening, the skipper called an all-officers meeting in the ready room. The room soon overflowed with the squadron’s forty officers.
Several men sat on the duty officer’s desk, and three latecomers squeezed in at the rear of the room. Commander Camparelli, standing by the podium, asked Cowboy if everyone was present.
“No, sir. Big Augie is up checking out the evening movie.” Big had been appointed movie officer after Camparelli had been required to visit with the captain of the Shilo concerning that young gentleman’s regrettable lack of decorum in the Alameda officers’ club the night before the ship had sailed.
The movie officer was required to sign out a movie every day after flight quarters and to operate the projector in the ready room. Big was now a fair hand at changing reels and held what was widely believed to be the ship’s record, a mere thirty-two seconds.
“Well, we can’t wait on him,” the skipper said. “Tomorrow at 1000 on the flight deck there will be a memorial service for McPherson. The uniform for officers will be tropical white long.” He paused, as if searching for something he should add. When the silence had gone on too long, he continued. “Enlisted evaluations E- 1 through E-3 are due by the end of the month. You people will have them completed and turned in to your department heads by the time we get to Cubi Point. You guys are getting sloppy. Paperwork has to be done regardless of flying fucking or anything else. No evals, no liberty.”
“On another subject, we’re going to put a couple planes on the beach this in-port period. We’re getting a new pilot and one or two new BNs, so we’ll do some field qualifications to get the pilot up to speed on landings. Lundeen and Greve, Grafton and Mad Jack will take the planes to Cubi. The quack has been working pretty hard, so we’ll give him a ride. Launch 0700 day after tomorrow. A wistful sigh drifted through the room. A few extra hours on the beach were always welcome. The ship will pull in in about 1000. The gangway should go over about 1030 or so.” Cheers greeted this announcement The ship had been at sea for fifty-two days.
“You fellows in the back lock the doors.” They murmured. Whatever was coming was going to be good.
“What I am about to say is not to go beyond the room. If my wife writes and tells me the officers’ Wives Club is discussing this, I will hang the sonuvabitch who wrote it home. None of the ladies in the ‘Waste a Day Club’ has any business hearing what I’m about to say.
Camparelli paused for effect.
Silence was total.
“I spent a half hour with the other squadron skippers up on the bridge this afternoon. It seems we have a phantom shitter on board.”
Most men hooted at this announcement, but a few simply looked bewildered.
Camparelli surveyed the room. “I see an explanation is required for the innocents among us. The phantom is a phenomenon that has plagued navy ships from time to time. It’s been years since I heard about one, but apparently we have a phantom aboard this ship.”
Various people exchanged grins and nudges. “Recently members of the ship’s engineering and air departments found human feces in spaces that had been unoccupied for several hours. Then the phantom started getting cute. He would put little notes in the ship’s suggestion boxes to the effect, ‘Tonight I am going to shit in number-four catapult room,” and sign it ‘The Phantom.” Sure enough, the next morning there was that little brown pile.”
The room rocked with laughter. Audacity toward authority always made a good joke. As the noise diminished Cowboy wanted to know, “What’s feces?”
More roars.
“It’s that stuff you’re full of,” came an answer from across the room.
When the laughter subsided, the Old Man continued. “Anyway, yesterday afternoon another note was found in the suggestion box saying the Phantom would strike last night on the quarterdeck. The captain secured access and stationed marine sentries outside with orders to admit no one.” The commander paused and looked about him. Not a whisper could be heard. The Old Man’s eyes twinkled. “This morning they found a pile on the quarterdeck.”
Men laughed so hard their eyes watered. They pounded each other on the back and stomped their feet.
All this was too much for Sammy Lundeen. He got up from his seat and tiptoed up the aisle, turning his head this way and that and peering about.
The laughter subsided and all eyes were locked upon him. A few giggles rolled around. When Sammy got to the front of the room, he cast a few more surreptitious glances, then unfastened his trousers, pulled them down, and squatted. The guys in the back row stood on the chairs, craning to see better.
The skipper spoke. “Sam, if you shit on my ready room deck-” The rest of his remark was lost in a hurricane of noise. Sammy was trying to keep a straight face but was having trouble. He stood and pulled up his trousers, took a last careful look around, then quickly tiptoed back to his seat. The storm of applause and laughter shook the walls.
“Okay. Enough. XO have you got that folder?”
“Uh, yessir, but, uh … do you really think … ?
The Old Man held out his hand and Harvey Wilson reluctantly passed him a manila folder, then retire with a serious look to his chair. Camparelli put the folder on the podium and flipped through it, examining every document.
“Parker, front and center. Cowboy got slowly to his feet and proceeded to the front. There wasn’t enough room for him to stand in front of the podium facing the skipper, so he stood beside it facing the audience.
The skipper held a sheet of paper in his hand an read it to himself.
Finally he turned and looked at the operations officer. “It says here that on the 6th of October you were found by several officers whose reputations are spotless … well, their reputations are fairly good … average maybe … heck, these guys drink, smoke, and cheat at cards. Anyway, they found you wandering stark raving naked through the passageways.” Giggles broke out again. “What do you have to say for yourself, Mister Parker?”
“Well, Skipper, I was in the shower and somebody stole my towel.”
“Mister Parker.” The skipper’s voice dripped contempt. “Let’s not blame your perversions on a fellow officer. You were observed to be almost a hundred feet away from your stateroom, naked as a Sunday chicks knocking on every door.”
“Uh, someone locked the door to my stateroom, sir. I think I was the victim of a conspiracy.” Cowboy glowered at the crowd.
The audience hooted. “The party or parties unknown who plotted this foul deed were trying to besmirch my reputation, sir. As unbelievable as that sounds, it’s true.”
The skipper grinned at the crowd. “We have a medal for you, Mister Parker, for exhibiting perversity in the face of adversity.” From an envelope he took a long ribbon and placed it around Cowboy’s neck. Dangling from the ribbon was a stateroom key. “Wear this if you wear nothing else, my boy.” With a wave of his arm he sent Parker toward his seat.
When things gradually quieted down, the men in the rear of the room became aware of pounding on the door. They opened it and Big Augie walked in bearing reels of film. “What the hell’s going on in here? I could hear the uproar a hundred feet down the passageway.”
Everyone tried to answer. Camparelli yelled over the hubbub, “What’s the show tonight, Big?”
The noise died down. “Uh, Skipper, it’s called Two Lane Blacktop.”
“Never heard of it,” said Frank Camparelli, who never missed a chance to rag the movie officer.
Cowboy spoke up. “I’ve seen it, Skipper. It’s not too bad.”
The commander regarded Cowboy with narrowed eyes. “Any skin?”
