“Umph. You aviators. You all think you are supermen.” Berkowitz smiled to take the sting out of his words. “Naval aviation is the home of more titanic egos than any other enterprise I’ve ever encountered. With the possible exception of television evangelists and congressmen.” He grinned again as a smile flickered on Jake’s face. “Sometimes it’s hard for supermen to face their own humanity.”
“Yeah.” Jake started to rise but Berkowitz motioned him back into his chair.
“I’ve wondered how you felt since the doctor grounded you.” The chaplain leaned forward. “So this visit is not unwelcome. Perhaps you could tell me how you’re handling it and that would help me when I counsel the other fliers. I see more of them than you might suspect.”
Jake moved forward in his chair until only three inches of his bottom was on the seat. “I’m not very religious, you know….” The expression on Berkowitz’s face forced him to add, “But you guys do great work. We sure do need chaplains—”
“As a safety valve? To keep the pressure cooker from exploding? Every man is a pressure cooker, CAG, including you.”
“Call me Jake.”
“Jake.”
“Yeah. Well, I’m making it.”
Berkowitz rose and retrieved several sheets of paper off his desk. “All the men aren’t making it, Jake. Five more UAs this morning.” UAs were unauthorized absentees. “It’s curious. Normally we don’t lose men like this, although maybe the four months we spent at sea is a factor. But two of these people are petty officers.” He read Jake the ratings: communications technician first and quartermaster third. “Curious.”
Jake examined the list.
“One of the nonrated men who disappeared the last time we were in Naples has shown up in San Diego.” The chaplain shrugged. “Do we have a problem?”
“Thanks for your time. How about keeping an eye on Bull?” Jake shook hands and left, headed for the XO’s office.
Ray Reynolds was on the phone. “Listen, Lieutenant. These men aren’t all drunk up in the Gut. Now I want them found.” He covered the mouthpiece with his hand and whispered to Jake, “Shore Patrol.” There was a permanent Shore Patrol detachment stationed in Naples under a U.S. Navy Lieutenant. Reynolds had undoubtedly reached him on the ship-to-shore telephone. “So what if I give you some more men? Will you search if I sent you some more men? … How many do you need?”
He motioned Jake toward a chair and consulted his watch. “I’ll have them come in on the noon boat.” Reynolds listened a moment. “I know what your responsibilities are. I’m sending these men with their own officer, and I expect you to cooperate with him. And this evening I’m going to be there to have a little face-to-face with you. You’d better have some good news for me.”
Reynolds hung the phone up with the lieutenant’s voice still coming out. His voice had not risen once during that conversation. He was known as a man who maintained an even strain, a man who never got excited, but you had better listen to what was said and ignore the conversational tone of voice or you weren’t going to get the message. Jake wondered if the shore patrol officer had listened carefully enough.
“Jake, I need another dozen enlisted from the air wing and one more officer to augment the shore patrol. Make him a lieutenant commander so he doesn’t have to take any shit from that lieutenant on the beach. Everybody in whites. Relieve them every eight hours. Have the officer come see me before he goes ashore.”
Jake picked up the phone on his desk and called Farnsworth, relaying the order.
“Something is going on,” Reynolds said when Jake hung up. “We’re bleeding men like the Confederate army at Petersburg. If we get one more UA, just one, we’re securing liberty.”
Jake pursed his lips for a silent whistle. Locking the men up on the ship after four months at sea was a drastic step. “Been to see the captain?”
Ray nodded. “Laird James is not happy. He’s sending a message to everyone in uniform east of the Mississippi. He’s going to get on the PA system in a little while and tell the men what’s going on.”
“What is going on?”
“Damned if anyone knows.” Reynold’s massive shoulders moved up and down. “I still think it’s the goddamn A-rabs, but guesses are three for a quarter. We’ve got to protect our men.”
“Maybe we oughta go see the local authorities?”
“Admiral Parker already choppered off this morning to do just that. He isn’t happy, either.”
Jake stood up. “I’ll have all the squadron skippers talk to their men before liberty call goes down. At least they can stick together, look after each other.”
“Do that.” The XO picked up the phone and started dialing. Jake headed for the door.
Colonel Qazi and Yasim were eating lunch with the Italian workmen on the paint scow when Captain James began speaking on the PA system. The bosun’s pipe that preceded his remarks echoed through the hangar bay and was perfectly audible to the men on the scow. The workmen stopped talking to listen to the whistle of the pipe, but they ignored the captain since most of them didn’t speak English. Qazi, though, listened carefully as he chewed pickled olives and sipped a local red wine.
After lunch he spoke to the painting supervisor, who had one of his men start the engine in the boat moored alongside and take Qazi and Yasim ashore. The workmen would keep their mouths shut, at least for a few days, Qazi knew, because they had been well paid. By one of Pagliacci’s men. That fact was probably more important than the money.
As the boat carried them away from the ship, Qazi looked back. She was so huge he felt a moment’s unease. He could see the tails of the airplanes protruding over the edge of the flight deck and the top of the massive island with its arrays of antennas. In the catwalk on the port side he saw one of the fifty-caliber machine guns. The marine wore a helmet and was waving at them.
Qazi waved back.
“Lieutenant Tarkington is out here to see you, sir,” Farns-worth said, leaning through the door to Jake’s office.
“What’s he want?”
Farnsworth managed an off-balance shrug.
“Okay.” Farnsworth stepped through the door, opening it wide and holding it. When Toad passed, the yeoman exited and closed the door. The Keeper of the King’s Gate, Jake thought. He would have to speak to Farnsworth. His doorman’s bit was becoming too theatrical.
“Good morning, sir.”
Jake stared at the junior officer standing exactly two feet in front of his desk. “Thanks a lot for your efforts last night, Tarkington. I really appreciated your suave and de-boner performance.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Doggone, Jake thought, he appears sincere. Jake bit a small piece of his lower lip to hold back the smile.
“So why are you here to waste my time?” Jake shook a piece of paper at Toad, who was staring at a spot two feet over Jake’s head.
“Uh, I’ve made a serious mistake, sir. Judith really is a very nice girl.”
Jake snorted and pretended to read the paper in his hand.
“She’s really not like she seems. She’s a highly intelligent lady.” He cleared his throat. “I really want to get to know her better, sir.”
“Really? Tarkington, that woman could rip the balls off a brass monkey. Why are you standing here in front of my desk?”
“She’s a wonderful woman, sir. I see that now. At first I thought she was just another airhead. You know, a great bod and a brain that went into storage overload by the time she was in the fifth grade.” His voice fell and he confided, “You know the type, sir — into astrology and screwball causes and longhaired cats. But Judith’s not like that at all. Uh, I guess I’ve sort of … like … um, fallen for her.”
“Do I look like a chaplain? I don’t give a damn about your love life or lack of it. That goddamn witch is probably related to the Borgias. Go write a long letter home to momma and tell her all about it. Get out of my
