Her Blue-Eyed Lieutenant (Soldiers 0f Swing Book 3)

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Her Blue-Eyed Lieutenant (Soldiers 0f Swing Book 3) Page 15

by Linda Ellen


  The demerit for having red eyes was almost his undoing, and he could tell that Bigelow knew it by the smirk on the sergeant’s face. Somehow, by herculean efforts, Gary had kept still and didn’t utter a sound or make any kind of derogatory facial expression. But inside…oh boy inside he was seething. Visions of his fist transforming into a sledgehammer and smashing that smirk right off Bigelow’s ugly face swam through his tired brain, but thankfully didn’t show in his eyes.

  A few minutes later, up in their room getting ready for the day, his roommates congratulated him on his control.

  All Gary could think, however, was he would sure be glad when this part of his training was over.

  That day, he took his final tests in the underclassman courses and aced each one, moving into the rank of upperclassman with high marks. One good thing…the demerit ledger started fresh for an upperclassman. One bad thing however…Bigelow still managed to be a thorn in his side.

  The brightest moments during those final eight and a half weeks were Julie’s letters. They always seemed to come at just the right time, and she somehow knew just what to say to encourage him, like a sixth sense. There were times when it was all he could do to drag himself up the steps—correction—double-time it up the steps no matter how bone-tired he was, and mechanically go through all of the motions and responsibilities he had to do to please the drill sergeant.

  More than once, when he was feeling his lowest and sure he couldn’t take another jab or another minute of this torture without cracking, he would take Julie’s letters out and reread them, absorbing into his being her care, concern, and encouragement. Her sixth letter, in particular, nearly brought tears to his eyes. Dear Gary, I want to start this letter by saying that it doesn’t matter what Sgt. Bigelow thinks or does—he will not stop you from completing your training. You will be an officer. In my eyes, you already are. Each time I think of you, I see you as Lieutenant Tucker, and I know that the actions of that drill sergeant will only serve to make you a better officer. The best the army will have. I know it. I have every confidence that you, Gareth B. Tucker, Jr., have what it takes to be a commissioned officer in the United States Army Air Corps. I’m going to start asking God to help the sergeant see that, too.

  For those moments, he could escape his surroundings and be back in Louisville—with her—and enjoying life. Many times, he was sure this was what it must feel like to be an innocent man in prison and have no rights, no voice, no opportunity to take up for himself and scream of the injustices. The only difference…and it was a big difference…was that he knew there would be an end to the misery and the result—if he could hold on to his sanity and his temper—would be the privilege, excitement, and responsibility of piloting a B-17. That fact alone made it all worth it.

  Julie’s belief that he could do it, that he could stay the course and succeed, and earn the right to fly one of those hallowed bombers, became his life preserver in an ocean of misery.

  And then finally—it was June.

  The seventeen long weeks were over and the squadron began practicing for their graduation and commission as second lieutenants. He had held onto his temper, studied hard, learned every blasted thing they wanted him to, received ribbons and commendations for marksmanship, academic grades, and every other accomplishment, and now he would become a commissioned officer in the U.S. Army—ending up ranking 5th in class standing of the twenty-six hundred and eighteen who had stayed the course out of the original four thousand that started with him.

  Not bad. He allowed himself a few moments of satisfaction at his achievements.

  When he found out he would be graduating on Friday, the 18th, he went straight to the Post Exchange and sent a telegram to his father. A few hours later, he stopped back by and received his reply. His father would be arriving on the 17th, and would find a hotel in Miami. Actually, his telegram said, WE WILL ARRIVE, and Gary’s heart sped up at the thought that maybe Gareth, Sr., was bringing Julie along as a surprise. For good measure, Gary sent Julie a telegram as well, and then one to each of his brothers. He didn’t hold out hope that Gene and Steve could make it, as they probably wouldn’t be able to get leave, but he wanted them to at least know he wished they could come.

  The next day, he received two telegrams. One from Gene who said, as he’d expected, that neither he nor Steve could get time off to come, but they would be thinking of him and were proud as peacocks and would celebrate with him in person soon.

  The second was from Julie. She regretted that she couldn’t come to see him receive his commission, but she was over the top happy for him and ended with, I TOLD YOU YOU COULD DO IT STOP LOVE JULIE.

  Love, Julie…his heart skipped a beat at reading those words.

  Then another thought popped into his head.

  Then, who the heck is Dad bringing with him?

  CHAPTER 14

  Butterflies skittered around in Gary’s belly as he stood chatting with friends in his squadron before lining up to begin their graduation drills. Today they just had to do everything in perfect precision—there were a large number of people who would be watching…quite a few high-ranking officers, the commander of the school, and General Henry H. “Hap” Arnold himself, the Chief of the Army Air Forces and acting “Deputy Chief of Staff for Air”. The graduates had been told that General Arnold had flown down just to address the class and had to fly right back to Washington, so it was quite an honor.

  On command, the squadrons quickly lined up and began marching in sync to an excellent rendition of Stars and Stripes courtesy of the marching band, in which Gary knew there were many famous orchestras represented. As they passed by in front of the crowd, the “EYES RIGHT!” command was given. The graduates snapped their heads to the right and saluted the brass who were standing at attention, receiving their answering salute. Gary hurriedly searched the rows of people seated, but he didn’t dare swivel his head to look for any familiar faces. No way would he be the one guy who would stand out in the formation—for the wrong reason.

  Eyes front again, they executed their maneuvers flawlessly and each man breathed a sigh of relief when they could all take a seat—on the grass in neat rows—and listen to the program. Finally, Gary could crane his neck and search the faces, eventually spotting his dad to the far left of the front row. At that moment, his dad leaned a bit to his left and said something to a woman beside him. She was wearing a floppy hat to shield her eyes from the bright Florida sun, and from the distance, Gary couldn’t tell who she was…

  Turning his attention to the proceedings, he listened as the school’s commander began the ceremony. “Every one of you should be proud. Stick your chests out, misters. We have crammed enough schooling in each of you to equal a year in college. We’ve made you toe the line every minute of the day for seventeen weeks. You’ve used enough spit and polish to shine every fire engine in the state,” he paused as the graduates chuckled. “We were teaching and testing you at the same time—and you made the grade. You came through. That’s the air force’s side of it. Now—what did you get out of it? Was it worth it for you personally? That’s something only you can decide.” He paused a moment while his gaze took in the vast number of men. A proud papa kind of look came over his face as he continued.

  “Well, you’re now commissioned officers—second lieutenants—and all of those non-coms are going to salute you now, like good ol’ sergeant so-and-so, your beloved drill sergeant that many times you probably wanted to murder.” All of the graduates burst out laughing at that, and Gary couldn’t help but join in. Oh, how true that was. He looked around for good old Sergeant Bigelow, but couldn’t see him from where he was seated on the ground.

  When the commander finished a few minutes later, he introduced General Arnold, who stepped to the podium and spoke about the army’s desperate need for pilots and that he had requested from the war department more P-51 fighters to escort the bombers—fighter planes with jettisonable fuel tanks to increase their range and maneuverability. He spoke of h
eavy losses on deep penetration missions and placed the blame on a lack of aggressiveness by bomber commanders. Therefore, he encouraged these new graduates and soon-to-be-pilots to be go-getters who would fly their B-17’s or their P-51’s through any and all problems or damage; to always remember that each bombing raid or each battle could be the decisive action of the war.

  Gary looked over at his father, but couldn’t tell from his vantage point what expression was on his face. He was obviously listening closely to every word, however. As Gary watched, the woman next to Senior turned her head and looked at his dad. Gary’s father met her eyes and something seemed to pass between them. Again, Gary wondered who she was.

  Then finally when the speakers finished, they began handing out the commissions. Gary, within the top ten of the school, was congratulated with big smiles from the commander. The man announced Gary’s standing in the class, handed him his diploma, shook his hand, and handed him a silver saber in recognition of his achievement. The top student received a large silver trophy cup. Gary didn’t know that fellow, he was in one of the other squadrons, but he gave it up for him with sincere applause along with the rest.

  When every man had been recognized and congratulated, the commencement exercises were dismissed and the men began making their way toward their friends and family members who had come to share in their triumph.

  Gary headed toward the left, stretching his head up, over and around, until he saw his father heading his way. They met about halfway and when they were within earshot, they exclaimed simultaneously, “My boy!” “Dad!”

  Mr. Tucker ignored the polite hand that Gary extended and grabbed his son into his arms, thumping him on the back in obvious pride. Then, he stepped back, his hands gripping Gary’s biceps as he said, “Let me look at you, son.” His keen eyes swept Gary from the top of his garrison cap to the tips of his gleaming black shoes. “Oh, you look fine son, just fine. Toned, fit, and every inch an officer and a gentleman. I’ve never been more proud of you, son.”

  Pleased and nearly tearing up under such praise, Gary smiled and mumbled, “Thanks, Dad. I’m glad you could make it…”

  It was then that he realized the woman was hovering close to his father’s side. He shifted his gaze and saw, to his amazement, that it was Steve’s mom, Mrs. Wheeler! But then, he reminded himself that he shouldn’t be shocked, considering their closeness seventeen weeks before…

  His dad stepped back and placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Gary, you remember Charise.”

  “Yes, how are you, ma’am? I’m glad you could come…” Gary began, but she interrupted by sweeping him into her arms for an affectionate hug.

  “Oh Gary, I wouldn’t have missed it,” she murmured against his neck as she hugged him.

  Gary turned his head enough to meet his father’s eyes and saw they were pleased as he watched the two embrace.

  She released him and stepped back a bit to wrap her hands possessively around Gareth, Sr.’s arm and laughed softly. “I can see by the look on your face that you are surprised.” She turned her head and met his dad’s eyes, indicating that he should take over.

  Mr. Tucker cleared his throat with a nod and patted her hands. “Son, Charise and I have been corresponding since you’d been here…talking on the phone…writing a few letters…” he paused and shared a smile with her. “This beautiful lady graciously consented to a long-distance courtship.” Then, he turned to meet Gary’s eyes again. “I told her about your graduation ceremony and she begged to come. So she came down on the train as she did before and we traveled here together. I hope that’s all right with you, son, because we—”

  Quickly regrouping, Gary held up a hand to interrupt as he smiled, and he meant it when he began, “Dad…Mrs. Whee—”

  “Charise.”

  “Charise,” he continued with a nod, “I’m happy for you both. Truly.”

  Charise’s eyes glistened and Gary could tell she had been unsure of what his reaction would be, and was very pleased. Gary truthfully was thinking it was wonderful for his dad and Charise to have found one another late in life after being alone for so long. The thought flicked through his mind that his mom would be happy for his dad.

  Before they could say more, Paul and Harrison walked up to them. Harrison had a woman glued to his arm.

  “Hey Whiz Kid!” Paul began, stopping at the glare Gary threw his way.

  “Sorry…” he cleared his throat and mumbled.

  Gary nodded toward the men and made the introductions. “Dad, Charise, these are friends of mine—2nd Lieutenant Paul Bloch, and 2nd Lieutenant Harrison Breton. Guys, I’d like you to meet my father, Gareth B. Tucker, Sr., and Mrs. Charise Wheeler.”

  “Nice to meet you,” both men said politely, and in turn, Harrison introduced the woman as his wife, Evelyn.

  Everyone exchanged glances and polite smiles, offering a bit of small talk about the lovely ceremony and admiring Gary’s sword. His roommates praised his accomplishment, but couldn’t resist a few gentle barbs about him studying so much at night he even got demerits for it.

  Evelyn smiled and squeezed her husband’s arm. “It was a stirring ceremony…but a bit disturbing for me.” She glanced up at Harrison’s face and went on. “I’m afraid I don’t keep up with the news as much as I should…and I didn’t realize that the bombers have been taking such a beating. The percentage of losses per mission…well, I…” she stopped as her husband met her eyes. “The thought of you up there, flying those huge airplanes, Harrison…being shot at by the Germans and in danger every minute of being killed or shot down and captured…”

  “Now Evie,” he countered, laying a hand over hers. “We talked this all out before I enlisted, and you were fine with it. You know I want to fly bombers.”

  “Yes, I know…I just hadn’t fully realized, I suppose,” she whispered.

  The others overhearing the personal conversation squirmed a bit. Gary peered into his dad’s eyes and saw a deep-seated fear lurking in their depths. No words were exchanged. Gary wasn’t sure what to say to reassure his father that everything would be all right and that he was doing what he felt he must.

  As he searched for something to say, Sgt. Bigelow sauntered by and Paul couldn’t resist needling the brash drill sergeant as he whispered aside to Gary, “Ooo, I’ve been waitin’ for this…”

  “Sergeant Bigelow,” he called, and Gary glanced at his friend’s face to see he was barely stifling a mischievous grin. Oh no, what’s this goof got planned…

  Bigelow changed direction and came to stand with their group. As a matter of military courtesy, he snapped a salute to each of the three brand new lieutenants, and they returned it, but Gary could tell it rankled the grizzled drill instructor. Gary smothered a smirk, as it felt good to finally be out from under the nasty sergeant’s thumb.

  “Sergeant Bigelow,” Gary’s friend continued, “I don’t believe you’ve met Lieutenant Tucker’s father—Mr. Gareth B. Tucker, Sr., President of Tucker Manufacturing.”

  The rigid sergeant turned to Gary’s father and stared, his eyes hard, as he ignored the hand the older man extended. Mr. Tucker raised an eyebrow as he studied his face.

  “Bigelow? Orville Bigelow?” the elder Tucker asked, a bit astounded.

  “The same,” came the deep reply.

  Gary’s eyes popped open. “You two know each other?”

  The sergeant, his nemesis of seventeen weeks, turned cold eyes his way. “Your father, Lieutenant Tucker, was once my employer—until he fired me from my job unduly,” he added with a barely veiled sneer.

  “Unduly, sir?” Mr. Tucker reacted. “I apologize if you thought so, but it was reported that you showed up for duty at the well cap, highly intoxicated. That wasn’t the first time, and you’d been warned,” he added.

  The hard-as-nails non-com turned and pierced Gareth, Sr. with a look that could cut through metal. “I was young and made a bad decision. You could have given me another chance. As it was, I couldn’t buy another position o
n any of the oilfields after you put the word out. I had no choice then. It was join the army, or starve.”

  Mr. Tucker drew himself up to his full height, refusing to be cowed. “You seem to have done well for yourself, Bigelow. You’re a sergeant now, with quite a few commendations from the decoration on your uniform,” he added with a sweep of his hand toward the sergeant’s chest.

  Bigelow also drew himself up tall and proud, but still seething. “Yes, I rose up in the ranks—but I never forgot my old boss. Good old, rich Mr. Tucker, who doesn’t care who he runs over in his rise to the top. And I swore one day I’d pay you back. So when your boy here…” he paused and grudgingly amended, “Begging your pardon, Lieutenant—joined up, you might say I…set out to see if he had the ba—” he caught himself just in time before uttering a raunchy phrase in front of the two women, “stuff it takes to be an officer. Despite my initial impression and riding him extra hard, he did fine. Top of his class. I’m sure you’re pleased. But then, everything seems to come easy to a Tucker.”

  Easy! Gary bristled. There was nothing easy about what I had to go through!

  Then, stepping back, he snapped to a salute and waited for the lieutenants to return it before turning crisply on his heel and walking rigidly away, both fists clenched at his sides.

  His small audience was left stunned and quite speechless. The man’s hate and malice had been overpowering.

 

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