“What’ve you got that we don’t have?”
“Ask Mad Jack the next time you see him,” Box said smugly.
“He’s seen it so often I use him for a reference.”
For a while they were free of the navy and the flight schedule, and a good belly laugh made the world a comfortable place once again.
When Lundeen and Grafton arrived at the Cubi Point Officers’ Club that evening, they found Cowboy and a group of friends sitting near the back of the dining room drinking whiskey, chewing steak, and shooting the breeze. Cowboy expounded on the scandal of the hour, the Phantom.
“God help that poor idiot when they catch him. He’ll get the first keelhauling in a hundred years. That’s after they boil him in oil but before they string him up to the yardarm.”
Jake and Sammy gave the waiters their orders and settled back to listen to Cowboy. “They’re going about catching him all wrong, I reckon. They’ll no doubt stake out likely compartments and have a huge investigation.”
“Well, how should they do it then?”
“All it takes to catch this guy is a keen sense of smell and a little knowledge of your fellow man.” Cowboy cut a piece of steak and chewed slowly.
“Now the fellow we seek is an individualist, a rugged individuallyst as the cliche goes. He does his own thing without much thought as to what the rest of the world thinks. He has a good sense of humor and likes to see other people laugh with him.”
“That ought to narrow it down to half the officers in the air wing,” Sammy said.
“Oh, but there’s more. Our boy likes taking chances. He gets a thrill out of running a risk.”
“That eliminates a whole bunch of guys I know Cowboy,” Little Augie snickered.
Cowboy ignored the sarcasm and the pun. “Sure a lot of guys get a charge out of danger. almost everyone does if the danger isn’t too great. But the Phantom’s a different breed. He loves danger no matter how great. He seeks it out, relishes it. He doesn’t need the applause of the crowd, the medals, or the photos in the newspaper. He’s addicted.”
Jake shook his head. “We’re all addicted to danger. We wouldn’t keep climbing into those airplanes if we didn’t find it exciting.”
“Grafton, let’s take you as an example. You enjoy flying but you don’t take unnecessary chances, and you rarely do things for the pure hell of it.
With you there usually has to be a reason.” Cowboy jabbed his fork in Lundeen’s direction. “Our Phantom is a man who just doesn’t give a damn, like Lundeen here. If Sammy Lundeen doesn’t find some danger or excitement in what he has to do, then he either doesn’t do it or he manufactures some.”
“Crap! From an amateur headshrinker,” Sammy protested. “I’m a good officer and you know it. I grind out the routine stuff with the best of ‘em.
Come down to the personnel office sometime and you’ll see the service records are in top-notch shape. Everyone gets his paper shuffled in my shop. Why, you could be the Phantom yourself.”
Cowboy grinned. “That thought has not yet occurred to the heaviest.” He glanced around to see who might be listening. “I wonder what will happen if it does?”
The conversation moved on to the one subject that always proved irresistible-flying. They talked flying at every opportunity. A great deal of knowledge was exchanged in these bull sessions. The underlying theme of all of these stories was how to stay alive when everything goes awry. Because it was considered gauche to tell a story which demonstrated one’s aerial virtuosity, the narrator survived despite his own ineptness, ignorance, and stupidity when the world turned to shit and the arresting gear cable broke, or the catapult fired with not enough steam to get him to flying speed or the tie-down chains snapped and he slid over the side into the hungry sea. But some stories were about the time the world turned to shit and a buddy made a mistake and did not live to tell about it. Then the dead man’s sins were mercilessly dissected.
After dinner Jake and Sammy went to the bar, ordered refills, and strolled over to watch the singer. She sang American pop songs without an accent, and she had an excellent voice.
Lundeen’s eyes roved around. “I wonder where the cute waitress is tonight.”
“I’ve been wondering, too. Guess she has the night off.”
“Well, I think I’ll go for a little taxi ride and see a schoolteacher friend.” He polished off his drink.
“What do you see in that woman, anyway? She must be pushing forty.”
“She’s here and so am I. See you later.”
Jake wandered down to where the Boxman, Razor Durfee, Big Augie, and a man Jake didn’t recognize were huddled around a table crowned with empty beer cans. “Pull alongside and drop anchor, shipmate, roared the Boxman. “Jake, I want you to meet Ferdinand Magellan.” Walkwitz put his arm around the stranger beside him.
The man had a wholesome look and his horn-rimmed glasses gave him an intellectual air. “Here in the flesh, the greatest BN who ever slipped the surly bonds and fondled God’s face.”
“Jake Grafton.” He shook the new man’s hand.
“Fred Magellon.”
“Like I said, Ferdinand Magellan,” hooted the Boxman.. “He’s one of our new guys. Checked in this evening when the ship tied up.
Doesn’t know horseShit from peanut butter.”
“Where’re you from, Fred?” asked Jake as he dragged a chair around.
“St. Louis. Well, the suburbs of St. Louis.”
Jake said, “I guess the Boxman and these other guys are getting you checked out on the liberty around here.”
“Sort of. I’ve been here two days waiting for the ship and did some looking around.”
“Don’t worry, Jake,” said the Boxman. “We’re going to take care of young Ferdinand. We’re going to see that this impressionable innocent gets indoctrinated in the best A-6 tradition, ‘in the highest traditions of the naval service,” if I may steal a phrase. In fact, we’re about ready to head across the bridge.” He waved at the waitress. “One last round, dearest.”
Big Augie turned to Jake. “Ferdinand is curious about what it’s like to fly in combat, and what type of a fellow his new pilot might be. He’s a bit worried he might end up with you.”
“No, I’m not.” Ferdinand spoke up quickly, obviously wishing he had never brought up the subject.
Jake grinned. “You’ll just have to find the answers to those questions for yourself.”
“Don’t lie to the kid, Jake. Tell it like it is.”
“I’ll lay it on the line for you,” volunteered Durfee. “If you make it through the first flight without crapping in your drawers, you’re going to do okay.”
“Amen.”
“Of course, you probably won’t make it through with clean underwear, but there’s always hope.”
“Let’s hit the beach,” said the Boxman, standing up.
“Let’s cross the bridge,”
“Finish your beer,” he was told.
“Forget the beer. I’m ready. Let’s cross the bridge.”
“Who’s going to take care of the Boxman?” Jake wanted to know. Someone usually had to stick with him to get him back to the ship if his enthusiasms clouded his judgment, as occasionally happened.
“That’s gonna be Ferdinand’s chore tonight.”
“Nobody has to take care of me. I can watch out for myself.” Box picked up his beer can and drained it. “You coming, Jake?”
“I thought I’d hang around here for a bit.”
“Better come, Jake. There’s bound to be one whore in Po City that you can fall in love with.”
“Well — .” Jake was not ready for the fleshpots but Ferdinand looked like a lamb going to slaughter “Okay, I’ll go for a while.”
“You’re a real guy, Cool Hand.”
“Thanks, Box. I needed that.”
The five of them commandeered a taxi in front of the club. As they crammed into the Japanese-built car, the
