cockpit floated weightlessly. The pilot released the stick and cuffed the doctor lightly on the arm. “Great fun huh?”
The sensation became one of falling as the bird began a tail slide toward the earth. Then the machine lurched and tumbled over backwards.
The weight of the nose and the streamlined shape took effect, and within seconds the gyrations ceased and they were plummeting earthward, gravity and engine thrust acting together to wind the airspeed-indicator needle around the dial at a dizzying rate.
Jake was busy again. He chopped the engines to idle and opened the wingtip speed brakes while searching for Lundeen.
“Do you see him?” he asked his passenger anxiously. They scanned the sky.
“I see you.” It was Lundeen.
Jake swallowed hard and brought his gaze up. There was the bastard, level and coming in head on. As fast as thought itself he rotated the plane, retracted the speed brakes, added power, and began a pull to go under Lundeen and force the opponent into an overshoot.
It was good to feel the plane respond to the slightest pressure on the controls, good to see the earth and sky tumble and change positions, good to fly free. Occasional scans of the fuel gauge and engine instruments were the only concessions to the machine. The pilots worked their sticks and rudders instinctively, as training and experience had taught them to do. Each focused entirely on the location of the other aircraft and tried to anticipate his opponent’s next maneuver. It was as if men and machines were fused: the fuel was blood, the engines muscle, the wings and speed and soaring flight their spirit. This was flying as the ancients had dreamed of it, when they watched the birds swoop and dart, The doctor rode in silence, enduring a ride worse than that of any roller coaster. This was a job for a younger man with a cast-iron stomach. Mad Jack managed to remove his oxygen mask, but the little bag he had thoughtfully placed in the lower leg pocket of his G-suit was beyond reach. He ripped off his left glove and vomited into it.
The plane was no longer maneuvering; it was glued to one-G flight as firmly as if it had been welded to a pedestal in a museum display. Mad Jack looked left and met the smiling eyes of Jake Grafton. The pilot winked at him as he told Sammy Lundeen to join up.
Once on the ground at Cubi Point Naval Air Station the planes taxied to the parking mat near the carrier. A sailor guided them into their parking place and another man chocked the wheels.
With the canopy open and the engines sighing in silence, Grafton removed his helmet and let the afternoon breeze cool his soaking-wet hair. The doctor did the same. Jake ran his hand over his hair and used a finger to squeegee the perspiration from his eyebrows.
“What do you think, Jack? Is it worth the final crash?” Before Mad Jack could answer, they were interrupted.
“Hi, Jake.” A khaki-clad figure tossed a can of beer up to the cockpit. The pilot fielded it and handed it to Mad Jack, then caught the next one tossed. The beer was ice cold, an elixir as it raced down Jake’s throat. The doctor sipped his.
“Welcome to Cubi again, Jake,” the beach detachment officer shouted.
“Thanks.” The pilot saw Lundeen walking toward him with his helmet bag in hand. “Sam, I want the beer you owe me.”
“You can have anything they got, Jake. You’re buying.”
“Ha! I whipped you so bad I thought you were on autopilot there for a minute.”
Lundeen gestured at the heavens. “Have you honor? God is watching you, Grafton, to see if you pay a debt of honor, a wager fairly made and fairly lost.
There are two gates up there, you know; one for winners and one for welshers- You’ll be going in that back gate while I’m around front with Saint Pete listing my virtues.”
“And that,” called Marty Greve, “will be a damn short list.” The carrier rounded the headland and by the time the carrier entered the channel, all four men were sitting in the officers’ club drinking beer. The view from the club, which sat high on a hill overlooking Subic Bay and Olongapo City, was breathtaking. Each man had time to drink another beer before the great ship drifted to a stop a hundred yards from the pier and four tugboats nestled against her.
“We’ll take some rooms. Let’s go up to the desk, before the guys on the boat get here,” Marty suggested, “and maybe work in a dip in the pool.”
“Well, fellows,” Mad Jack told the airmen as they stood up, “I’m on duty today so I have to go back aboard.” He stuck out his hand to Jake. “Thanks for the flight.” The doctor smiled. “I won’t forget that ride for a while. Maybe you’re right. Living fast might be worth the final crash. Maybe that’s the secret you fliers know.”
Grafton grinned and shook the offered hand. “See you later, Jack.”
NINE
The Filipino steward at the BOQ regarded the three airmen with suspicion. “When your ship come in?” he demanded. The BOQ was not to be used by officers whose ships were in port.
“It’s classified,” Lundeen said with a straight face. “Don’t you know there’s a war on?” He signed for a room.
The steward folded his arms across his chest. He had no doubt dealt with many navy flight crews, most of whom were inclined to ignore everybody’s rules except their own. “You must check out of your room when your ship come in. We have very few rooms.”
“You can bank on it,” Lundeen told him, then picked up his gear and led the group down the hall. “It’s a good thing we got here before the Shilo crowd swarms around the pool. Then he would have known the boat was in.” They agreed to meet in fifteen minutes at the pool.
After showering, Jake ran into his buddies in the hall and they trooped to the pool behind the sprawling U- shaped building. “Six gin-and-tonics for my friends and me,” Jake shouted to the bar girl, then plunged into the water. Sammy and Marty were right behind. By the time the first group of officers from the ship arrived at the poolside bar, the gin, the cool water, and the hot sun had worked together to soothe the three men.
“How’s the water, fellas?” Little Augie asked.
“All used up. Too bad you missed it.”
Little dropped his kit bag and set his drink on the table. “Like hell I did,” he said and dived in, clothes and all.
“Brilliant,” said Marty when Little surfaced.
“What’re you going to use for dry clothes?”
Little hoisted himself out of the water and took off his shoes to drain.
“They’re in the bag. I plan ahead.”
He laughed and lifted his drink.
The Boxman, Bob Walkwitz, walked over carrying a tall glass filled with a rum concoction. He pulled up a chair.
“Going across the bridge tonight, Box?” Sammy inquired.
The Boxman took a drink and flexed his shoulders. “Maybe.”
“‘Maybe’ my ass. It’d take wild horses to hold you back.”
“Can I help it if I like women?” Box demanded. “What’s wrong with you guys, anyway? Ya queer?” He sipped on his drink and leered at the waitress.
“Already I’m in love.”
“I thought you were in love with her the first time we pulled into Cubi. Didn’t she give you something to remember her by?”
Boxman stared at the swaying figure of the retreating girl. “Naw. It wasn’t her. Couldn’t be.” He shook his head. “Naw. They all remember me.”
“Did I hear that right?” Sammy wiggled a finger in his ear.
“Talk about confidence!” Jake said, slightly awed.
