flight?”
“Smoother than silk, but the landing was a little rough. Maybe we’d better try it again.”
Lundeen leaned in with some whispered advice “This time watch the wire, not the bosun.”
With another mighty warwhoop Grafton swept down the track. And into the pond. As they hauled him bac he announced to the crowd, “That was practice.
This time I mean it.”
When the hook arrested the beast on the third flight he almost hit his head on the panel. Applause rattle the windows as a laughing Sammy Lundeen helped him out of the cockpit. Someone thrust another drink at him.
“Which of you shit-hot flyboys is next?” the bosun boomed.
Jake yelled, “Sammy Lundeen.”
“Hell, no,” said Lundeen without conviction. Eager hands propelled him into the slimy seat. “Now watch the greatest pilot who ever lived catch the wire on the very first try,” Sammy chortled. “I was born in a cockpit. I could fly before I could walk.”
“Bet that made nursing a lot more fun,” someone hooted. “Did you just hover there, like a humming bird?”
“Watch and weep, swine.”
“Have you any money, my boy?” the bosun inquired.
“Fifty bucks, infidel dog, ye of little faith, follower of the false prophet-“
“I’ll take ten.”
“Me, too,” was the chorus.
“Thanks, guys,” Lundeen announced triumphantly after he grabbed the wire. “It’s always a pleasure spending your money.” Pocketing his winnings, he and Grafton retreated to the bar where Cole was waiting, the corners of his mouth curving upward a fraction of an inch. The three of them watched Cowboy and five others wrestle the bosun toward the machine.
Jake surveyed the naked drunk on the bar and decided that modesty should be given at least a token nod. He took off his wet socks and put them on the feet of the unconscious Corsair pilot. This accomplished, he turned to Lundeen.
“Thanks for taking me to Hong Kong. That was one hell of a good time.”
“No sweat.”
“Damn, I sure feel good. It’s been one fine in-port period. No lie, Sam, I really feel great.”
“You’re drunk, Jake. You always feel great when you’re drunk.”
Grafton acknowledged to himself the truth of the statement. He was getting loaded again, and that always felt good.
“Well,” said a voice behind them, “this one certainly seems quiet enough.” A navy captain in short-sleeve whites observed the nude on the bar.
Above his left shirt-pocket, the captain wore four rows of ribbons topped with gold pilot’s wings. The uppermost left ribbon was the Silver Star. His close-cropped black hair was shot through with gray, and his cap, with scrambled eggs on the visor, perched precariously on the back of his head. “Is he alive?” the captain asked Sammy in a conversational tone.
“Yessir. Last time we checked, he was.”
The captain turned to the small civilian who stood behind him. “I thought you said this man was completely naked?”
“I did and he is. He stood on a table upstairs and stripped down and greatly embarrassed our female staff.”
“He has socks on now. He’s partially dressed,” the captain observed.
“Sir, we can’t keep our employees if this kind of behavior goes on.
And who’s going to pay for all the breakage upstairs? And this mirror?” The club manager gestured toward the glass fragments behind the bar.
“I’m sure you’ll have no trouble getting or keeping help. I have over a hundred applications on file for every civilian job on this base, including yours.
And I’m sure these officers are willing to stand good for the breakage. Just send me a tally for everything you want replaced and I’ll see that it’s paid.”
“But-“
“Go on upstairs and manage this place. Send me the list tomorrow.” The captain smiled at Grafton and Lundeen. “And how is the evening going?”
“Just fine, sir. But if I may make a suggestion? You better remove your cap before someone demands that you buy a round.”
The captain put a hand to his cap, then withdrew it. “That is the custom, isn’t it? Barkeep!” The Captain raised his voice. “There is a man in the house with his cover on. Drinks for everyone!” More than sixty men surged toward the bar.
Armed with a drink, the captain scanned the crowd and spotted Bosun Muldowski. “Ski! I thought you retired off my ship four, five years ago?”
“Aye, Captain Harrington, I shore did. But I got tired of sitting’ on my ass and listening to the ol’ lady, and with the war on and all…. Well, here I am!”
The captain surveyed the bosun’s wet clothes. “I see you also undertook to give these young gentlemen some lessons.”
The bosun looked down at his wet T-shirt in disgust.
“That’s about the size of it.”
The atmosphere in the bar had mellowed. Muldowski fell into a talkative mood, so the men plied him with beer and listened to his stories. He solved all the navy’s problems, told Congress where to go, cussed out everyone on earth not wearing navy blue, and gave the men a well-received assessment of most civilians: “Lower than whale shit at the bottom of the sea. At about two in the morning, four or five guys from one of the A-7 outfits came in and collected their naked shipmate. He was snoring happily before they cranked him up, but once aroused demanded another drink. They gave him ice water, and he gurgled back to life.
Jake walked outside and sat down in the grass some fifty feet away from the building. He could see the Shilo, illuminated with floodlights, lying at the carrier pier. Even from a mile and a half away, she looked gigantic.
Beyond her the black water of the bay extended to the high hills on the western shore, while off to the south lay the entrance to the bay. The breeze blowing in off the sea, laden with the wild smell of salt, felt good. He stretched out on the grass and looked up at the stars.
In two days he would be flying again. More worthless targets with lots of flak and no results. He remembered the suspected truck park he and Morgan had bombed back was it? A week, ten days ago? All that flak. Although it seemed long ago, he would never forget how the cockpit looked after they opened the canopy. All that blood.
He ran his hands through the grass and felt the damp earth. Then he sat up. Wondering about Callie and the future, he looked at the enormous bulk of the carrier and at the dark sea just beyond the entrance to the bay.
THIRTEEN
The Shilo was under way at 0800 the next morning the sun crept over the scalloped rim of the mountain bordering the bay. The tugs helped her from the peer and then, under her own power, she turned and made for the channel to the sea. Two destroyers steam ahead and four astern. Once into the open ocean the escorts fanned out, taking up their stations around the giant flattop. The task group soon turned to a western heading and stood away from the land. Within three hours the highest peaks in the Luzon shore range had sunk into the ocean. Once again the horizon was empty. Small puffy clouds drifted along on the trade wind.
At noon the ship swung into the southwesterly trades and slowed until the relative wind down the angled deck was thirty knots. Then she began to recover aircraft that had been flying from Cubi Point while she had been in port. F-4s, A-7s, an E-2, and an EAProwler came aboard in order.
Only one of the the Intruders that had been ashore appeared over the ship. When word reached the ready
