Grafton walked toward the Air Wing office with mixed emotions, a tiny pitter-patter of elation that might get his name in newspapers and a large dose of caution as he contemplated the ease with which he could make a fool of himself.
When he entered the office, the CAG ops officer, Lieutenant Commander Seymore Jaye, waved him over to the table where Jaye sat with a bearded, khaki-clad figure without nametag or rank insignia. A civilian. “Grafton, this is Les Rucic, a reporter, and he wants to interview you.”
The pilot leaned over and shook Rucic’s outstretch hand. “Why me?” he asked Jaye.
The corners of Jaye’s mouth turned down slight He had that habit. “I picked you, Cool Hand,” he said as if that were a sufficient answer and Grafton would be wise to leave the subject alone.
“You don’t mind talking to me, do you?” Rucic asked with a smile.
“No problem.” He gave his full name and home town as Rucic carefully wrote it down in block letters.
“I asked the commander here if I could interview you. You were one of the pilots on this afternoon’s strike? How’d it go? ” Jake was confused. What could he reveal that would be unclassified? Well, the gomers knew all about the mission, so why not tell the Americans? “No real problems,” he said, and added, “Why’d you ask for me?”
Rucic gave him a frank and honest look. “I was recently talking to one of the fighter pilots, Fighting Joe Brett. He tells me you’re one of the best pilots on this ship. I believe his phrase was more scatological. He said you were shit hot. ‘Grafton is one shit-hot driver.”‘ Jake colored slightly and shrugged. Joe Brett undoubtedly thought he was doing Jake a favor by giving his name to the reporter.
Rucic looked down at his notes. “Jacob Lee Grafton. From Virginia. Any relation to the Lee family? ‘ ‘No, I’m named after a grandfather who was named for Robert E. Lee. No relation. Personally, I always thought the original dude was a traitor but he had a big rep back in Virginia.”
“Your father a military man?”
What did this have to do with dropping bombs on North Vietnam? “No, he’s a farmer. He drove a tank for Patton in World War II, but he’s been a farmer ever since.”
“Is that the way you see yourself. Flying a plane for the admiral, or Richard Nixon?”
Jake glanced at Jaye, who was staring at the coffee pot in the corner as if it were the most interesting object he’d seen all day.
“I think of myself as flying a plane for Uncle Sam.”
Rucic grinned, and Jake noticed three or four black hairs that protruded from each nostril. “How’s it feel to be risking your life in combat when the war’s about over?”
“Is it?”
“Kissinger says so.”
“I wouldn’t know. Diplomacy’s a long way from my department.”
“Tell me about your flight today.”
“Well, there’s not a whole lot to tell. We went, weather was lousy, they shot a good bit, some of us managed to bomb in spite of the clouds, and we came back to the ship in one piece.”
The smallest trace of disappointment crossed Rucic’s face. “But you hit the power plant?” So Jaye briefed him.
“We dropped on it.”
“But did you hit it?”
“I never looked back. Who knows?”!
“But YOU must have some idea, lieutenant,” the reporter persisted.
“Well, Les, it was like this. There was a lot of flak and missiles and I was pretty busy. After I pickled I puckered my asshole and got the hell out of Dodge as fast as two engines and a prayer would take me.”
Rucic paused, then scribbled in his notebook.
“You know, Grafton, I flew F-86s in Korea. Air Force.”
“Well, then, you have the background for your job.”
“I know what it was like then. What’s it like now over North Vietnam?”
“They shoot a lot.”
“At night, too?”
“At night it’s like the Fourth of July. Lots of low tracer and every now and then a SAM.”
Spectacular Rucic was writing on his pad. “Fourth of July.”
Oh, Lord. Now he had done it. Rucic would that Jake Grafton said flying over North Vietnam was just like the Fourth of July. “Uh, maybe you better not use that.”
Rucic’s pencil stopped, and he looked at the pilot “People might misunderstand. Know what I mean Rucic smiled. “You still don’t know if you got the Power plant?”
Jake remained mute.
“What if the bombs hit a nonmilitary target?”
Jake knew the phrase “nonmilitary target” it was loaded. It could mean anything from trees or dikes to schools or hospitals.
“War is hell.”
“You might’ve, from what you have told me.”
“There’s no such thing as a ‘nonmilitary target,”‘ Jake replied. “Ask the V.C. what was off limits when they went into Hue. Anyway, my bombs hit the power plant or in the vicinity.”
“How do you define ‘vicinity’?”
“The ‘vicinity’ is anywhere the bombs hit when I’m going at the target.”
“That could be a large area.”
“How large depends on one’s skill as a pilot. I’m good enough. ‘Shit hot,” I believe you said.”
“What-” But Grafton was up and leaving.
“Enjoy your cruise, Les.” With a wave to Seymore, he went out the door.
Rucic would probably crucify him in the press, paint him as an insensitive cliff ape who didn’t care who he killed.
Well, I do care. I care about McPherson and the forty-seven shattered bodies and all the others, all those I don’t know about and don’t want to know about.
Fatigue pressed on him from all sides. He slapped the bulkhead with his hand. “Damn!”
FIFTEEN
After dinner that evening Jake went to the ship’s library.
Approaching the sailor at the desk he said I’m interested in seeing what you have on North Vietnam.”
“Oh, we get that request all the time,”
“Well,” the pilot said, “do you have any maps of the North?”
“As a matter of fact, National Geographic ran a article with a map a few years ago.” The sailor opened a drawer and produced a well-thumbed copy of this waiting-room staple. “The map’s in the back.”
Jake signed for the magazine and tried not to look enthusiastic. “Any books or anything like that?”
“Well, you might try Inside Asia, by John Gunther It’s pretty old but a lot of people check it out.” The librarian reached for the volume on a shelf beside him “We get SO many requests that we can only let you have it for a couple days.”
Back in his stateroom, Jake examined the map first It was colorful and showed the relief well, but it lacked the latitude and longitude grids necessary for measurement. The waste was also far too small. The map contained no city insets, not even of Saigon. Disappointed, he refolded it and laid it aside.
Inside Asia, published in 1939, divided Asia into four regions: Japan, China, India, and the middle East. When the table of contents revealed no listing for Indochina, he flipped to the index. There it was, with two page numbers indicated. The author had devoted a page and a half to all of Indochina. Jake closed the book in disgust and read the Vietnam article in the National Geographic. Written in 1967, it quoted several military sources as stating that we were winning the war. Well, maybe they thought differently after Tet. Then again, maybe not.
