“Well, Mister Grafton. You have an attentive audience here. Perhaps you could take this opportunity to explain why you felt a one-plane war was the way to go. “Was that really a question, sir?”
“Uh-huh.” Copeland gazed at the far bulkhead. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Copeland fixed his eyes on the pilot. “Come, come, Mister Grafton. We’re all sitting here with hated breath anxiously awaiting your explanation. Why would a seemingly sane pilot and bombardier get wild hairs up their asses and violate every goddamned targeting regulation the navy has? Not to mention several dozen security breaches and make false official statements. C’mon Shed some light on this mystery.”
Jake took a deep breath. “I can only speak for myself. I got tired of risking my ass and my bombardier’s, plus a valuable airplane, night after night, bombing targets that were absolutely worthless: suspected truck stops, suspected troop bivouacs, sampan repair yards that had been bombed ten times before, road intersections-you get the idea.” He took another deep breath. “I don’t know who picks the targets, but I’ll bet a year’s pay that they don’t fly through the flak and risk their precious asses bombing them.”
He looked around at the other faces in the room. “My first bombardier, Morgan McPherson, and about fifty thousand other Americans are dead. Not all these men died actually fighting. Some died on flight decks, launching planes.
But they were all engaged in one effort. So, what did they all die for? Does anybody know? I don’t, but I do know this: McPherson didn’t get killed hitting a worthwhile target. He died bombing a bunch of trees. I only wish he and I had been swinging with our best punch against a target that made sense when he caught that bullet.”
He leaned forward. “I guess this sane pilot questioned the sanity of those officers and politicians who think that the way to fight a war is to tie one hand behind the fighter’s back. Commander Camparelli pointed out to me the other night that America’s arm forces are her sole defense against enemies much more powerful than that bunch of communist crack pots in Hanoi will ever be. And America needs her military to obey. America also needs warriors. Yet our military leadership doesn’t insist on military objectives to make sense. The lives of our fighting men are being wasted every day. Either we end this war or we fight like we mean it. If we pussy-foot around much longer, America may not have an army or navy to defend her-We won’t be able to recruit good people to serve and we won’t be able to get Congress to buy us the weapons to fight with.
“So, Captain, you can tell all those admirals in Washington that Lieutenant Nobody is perfectly willing to obey orders,” he nodded at Camparelli. “But I for one hope those gentlemen with stars remember that a naval officer’s job is to sail in harm’s way, not to work the cocktail-Party circuit. Or we won’t have a navy worthy of the name for them to lead. Jake lowered his voice. “Captain, you asked. The opinion is mine alone. I don’t speak for anyone but myself. I disobeyed orders and I regret it. Nothing I’ve said excuses my conduct. I’m ready to accept whatever punishment the navy feels appropriate.”
“Is there anything more you want to say?” Copeland asked.
Jake thought a moment. “No, sir.”
“All right, lieutenant. You’re dismissed.”
Jake was sitting on his bunk when Sammy came “He kicked us junior folk out soon after you left.” Sammy told him and plopped into his desk chair. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been as scared in my life as I was at that hearing.”
“Yeah,” Grafton agreed. “Man, I really screwed up. But I said what I’ve wanted to say for a long time. Now all I have to do is plead guilty at the court-martial.” He reached into his pocket. “Look at this,” he said, holding out the ring.
Sammy looked at it as if he had never seen an engagement ring before in his life. “What’s this? A fucking engagement ring? At a time like this you’re buying a fucking engagement ring?”
“Yep,” Grafton said. “I finally figured out what’s important. What do you think of it?”
Sammy looked with incredulous eyes from the ring to his roommate and back to the ring. “Did you get this in the ship’s store?”
“Yep.” Jake smiled happily.
“You’ve flipped out, man. They’re going to hang you from the yardarm and you’re buying rocks in the ship’s store. I don’t believe this.” He put his fingertips on his forehead. “How much did you pay.
“Three hundred bucks.”
“Well, it looks like a good one to me, but I don’t know a goddamn thing about diamond rings. I don’t want to learn, either.”
“I haven’t asked her yet, but I think she’ll say yes. I’m going to ask her the next time I see her.” He held the ring under the light.
Sammy watched his friend out of the corner of his eye. He lit a cigarette and smoked it slowly. Finally he said, “Let me see that ring again.” He was making appreciative comments when there was a knock on the door.
Camparelli entered. “Take a hike, Sammy, will ya? I want to talk to Jake.” The Old Man stood at the end of the bunks. He drew a deep breath.
“There probably won’t be a court-martial, but there’s no guarantee on that.”
He looked around the stateroom. “You guys keep any booze in this slum?”
Jake spirited a bottle out of the desk safe and poured several fingers in a glass for Camparelli, “Have a drink yourself. You’re one lucky sonuvabitch.”
“What happened? I thought keelhauling was gonna be too good for me.”
Camparelli took a swallow. “Needs ice. It seems,” he said, “that your explanation for doing what you did hit pretty close to home. The feeling in the White House is that we haven’t been aggressive enough. In about twenty- four hours the President of the United States will announce a general air offensive against North Vietnam. Nixon’s authorizing the use of B-52s against targets in the North.
We’re going to use every aerial asset we have, except nuclear weapons, to pound the living shit out of North Vietnam. No civilian targets, of course, but we’re going to hit everything we can find of any military significance ” He shook his head.
The powers that be have decided that we’d look like real idiots having a public court-martial of a twenty- seven year-old pilot for doing what the President of t United States has just told us all to do.”
Jake shook his head. So Copeland had merely been taking names and making everyone in sight sweat to make sure the heresy was rooted out.
The leviathen had felt the pinprick, had lashed with annoyance, but had not crushed him.
Camparelli continued. “You understand that what you did was wrong. Dead wrong. The only reason you’re being given a second chance is that right now the military has a public relations problem that makes the Mafia’s press look good.
The left thinks we’re criminals and the right thinks we’re pansies. There’s no point in kicking over a hornet’s nest, which is what a public court-martial would be.” Camparelli shifted uncomfortably in his chair and seemed to grope for words. “War is our profession. I . for one, am fed up with naval theorists and systems analysts who couldn’t fight their way out of a whorehouse.”
“May I quote you on that, sir?” Jake said with a nervous laugh.
“You sure as hell may not.” The Old Man took another swallow. “We’re professional military men. From the C N O right on down, we do as we’re told. It can’t be any other way and I wouldn’t want it any other way. But do we have a duty to disobey under some circumstances? Perhaps we do. But where? And when?
You, Grafton, are not equipped to decide.”
“I understand.”
“You are, however, fit to fly. Cowboy’s putting you and Cole on tonight’s flight schedule. You can have the tanker I was scheduled for. And I’ll have me a night in bed.” He raised his voice. “Lundeen, you can come in now.”
Sammy, slightly abashed, entered.
Camparelli spoke. “Grafton’s flying tonight.”
Sammy nodded and the skipper motioned for him to sit down. He passed him a glass from the sink and splashed some whiskey in it, then remarked conversationally, “Someone shit up in the forecastle last night.”
“Wasn’t me, Skipper,” Sammy hastily assured him.
Frank Camparelli sipped his drink. “I figured as much. If I thought it was you, Sam, you’d be on your way to the States this very minute wearing your testicles on your collar. But I do think it’d be a good idea if you kept Jake company aboard ship next time we’re in port. Make that the next two times in port.”
