Is there anything I can do for you?" "No." She busied herself arranging the sheets and checking that he had fresh water in a glass by the bed. He lay taking it in, enjoying the brightness and the cleanliness.
After a bit curiosity stirred him. "What day is it?" "This is Wednesday." "We got shot down... December nine.
What day... is it now?" "The sixteenth of December." "We missed Australia." "What was that?" "Nothing," he murmured, and closed his eyes again. He was very tired.
He was still pretty foggy when he talked to the doctor, either later that morning or that afternoon. The sunbeam had moved. He noticed that.
"We operated on your left side. Your lung collapsed.
Lucky you didn't bleed to death. And of course you were shot in the shoulder. By some miracle the bullet missed your collarbone. Went clean through." "Uh-huh." "You're also fighting a raging infection. You aren't out of the woods yet, saffor." "Le Beau, how's he doing?" "He's critical. He lost a lot of blood." "He gonna make it?" "We thinkso. 19 "When he wakes up, I want to see him." "We'll see." "Bring him in here. This room's big enough. Or take me into his room." "We'll see.
"How'd we get here, anyway?" "The ship medevaced you two to Clark and the Air Force flew YOU here." "I may not be out of the woods, but I'm out of the jungle." The next day Flap was wheeled into the room. His bed was placed beside Jake's. A bandage covered half his head.
But he grinned when he saw Jake out of his one unobstructed eye.
"Hey, shipmate." "As I five and breathe," said Flap La Beau as the nurses hovered around hooking up everything. "The neighborhood is integrating. Better put the house up for sale while you still can." "If you don't stop that racist stuff I'm gonna start calling YOU Chocolate." "Chocolate Le Beau," he said, savoring it.
"I like it. They hung that Flap tag on me because I talk a lot. My real name is Clarence." "I know. Middle initial 0. What's that stand for?" "Odysseus. I picked it out in college after I read the Odyssey. Clarence 0. Le Beau. Got a ring to it, don't it?" He directed the question to one of the nurse% who looked sort of sweet "It is very nice," she said, and smiled.
"So how you feeling?" Jake asked.
"Like a week-old dog turd that's been rim over by a truck.
And you?" "Not quite that chipper." When the nurses were leaving Flap told the sweet one, "Come back and see us anyfte, dearest." "I'll do that Clarence O." When they were gone, Flap told Jake, "Don't worry. I'll get you one too. Trust me." "So what's wrong with your head?" "Concussion and blood clot. They had to drill a hole to relieve the pressure. Another hole in my head-just what I needed, eh?" "Me captain laid you out with a butt stroke. I killed him." "I figured that or we wouldn't be here. But some other time, huh? I don't want to even think about that shit." "Yeah." "What's for lunch? Have they told you?" "No." "I am really ready for some good grits." "Guess we missed Australia." "These things happen. Don't sweat it. You can make it up to me somehow." The following day they were visited by a Navy commander, an officer on the staff of Commander In Chief Paciflo--CINCPAC. He interviewed both men, recorded their stories, then when they tired, left while they napped. He came back for another hour just before dinner and asked questions.
"If I can do anything for you gentlemen, give me a call." He left a card with his name and telephone number on the stands beside each of their beds.
They had lost a lot of weight. When the nurses first sat Jake up he was amazed at how skinny his legs and arms were.
Improvement was slow at first, then quicker. By the fifth day Jake was walking to the bathroom. He bragged, so Flap got himself out of bed and went when the nurses weren't there. He bad trouble with his balance but he made it to the john and back by holding on to things.
On the eighth day they went for a hike, holding on to each other, to see what they could see. A nurse caught them and made them retrace their steps.
The hospital was half-empty. "Not like it used to be. You were the first gunshot victim we saw in two months," one nurse told Jake.
"Not like the good old days," he replied.
"They weren't good days," he was told. "Thank God the war is over." On the day after Christmas they demanded clothes.
That afternoon an orderly brought them cardboard boxes containing some of their clothes that the guys on the ship had packed and sent. The orderly helped Jake open his. Inside he found underwear, uniforms, shoes, insignia As he was inspecting a set of khakis, the thought went through his head that he should discard this shirt and buy another.
Where had that thought come from? He was getting outout of the Navy!
He sat on the edge of the bed holding the shirt, looking at it but not seeing it. Ou. To do what? What could he conceivably do as a civilian that would mean as much to him as what he had spent the last six years of his life doing?
He was a naval officer. lieutenant, United States Navy.
That meant something.
He was digging in the box when he found a letter. It was from the Real McCoy.
Hey Shipmate" When you read this you will probably be getting spruced up to go to the club or chase women. Some guys will do about anything to get out of a little work.
This boat was like a damn funeral parlor the night you and Flap didn't come back. The mood improved a thousand percent when they announced that the chopper was inbound with both of you aboard. The captain and CAG and Skipper Haldane were there on the flight deck with the medicos when the chopper landed, along with a couple hundred other guys.
After the docs got you guys stabilized and you left in the COD, the captain got on the 1-MC and said some real nice things about you. It was pretty maudlin. I forgot most of it so I won't try to repeat it here, but suffice it to say that every swinging dick on this boat is glad you two clowns made it.
Australia is on. TS for you. We'll party on without you, but you'll be missed.
Your friend, Real Two days later Jake decked himself out in a white uniform and Flap selected a set of khakis. They strolled the grounds.
The days were Hawaii bahny with clouds every afternoon.
One day they took a taxi to the golf course and rented a golf cart.
Out on the fairways they went over the whole adventure again, little by little, a scene here, a scene there. Gradually they dropped it and went on to other subjects, like women and politics and flying.
One day Flap brought the subject up again, for what proved to be the last time. "So where is my slasher?" "I think I left it sticking in the captain. But I might have just dropped it somewhere. It's a little hazy." "That was my best knife." "Tough shit!" "I designed it. It was custom-made for me.
Cost me two hundred bucks." "Order another." Flap laughed. "I can see you are oozing remorse over MY loss$91 conccTo be frank, I don't give a shit about your knife." You're as full of tact as ever. That's one of the qualities that will take you far, Grafton.
01' Mister Smooth." "And the horse you rode in on, Clarence O." "It's my turn to drive this friggin' cart.
You're always hoggin' the driving'." "That's because I'm the pilot. Why don't you tell me about some of the ugly women you've run across in your adventures?" "Well, by God, I just will." And he did.
In the evenings there was little to do, so Jake wrote letters. His first was to his former roommate, Sammy Lundeen.
He hit the highlights of this last cruise and devoted a whole page to crossing the line. In the finest traditions of naval aviation, he seriously down played his and Flap's role in the pirate adventure. Luck, luck, luck-he and Flap had survived due to the grotesque ineptitude of the villains and despite their own extraordinarily stupid mistakes, mistakes that would have wrung tears from the eyes of any competent aviator. All in all, the letter was quite a literary effort, firstclass fiction. That thought didn't occur to Jake, of course, when he reread it before stuffirtg it into an envelope. His buddy Lundeen would chuckle, Jake knew, and shake his head sadly.
Good ol' Sammy.
Instinctively he adopted a completely different tone when he wr
ote to Tiger Cole, his last BN during the Vietnam War.
There was no bullshit in Tiger Cole, and no one who knew him would try to lay the smelly stuff on him. You gave it to that grim warrior straight and unadorned.
He ended the letter this way: I have never thought of myself as a professional.
Never. I've been a guy who went into the service because there was a war and I've merely tried to do my best until the time came for me to go back to the real world. Still, I have watched so many pros since I have been in the Navy-you included-that I think I'm beginning to see how the thing is done. And why.
I hope so, anyway. So I've decided to stay in.
The decision hasn't been easy. I guess no important commitment is.
Whenever I get back to the mainland, I'll give you a call. I'll probably take some leave.
Maybe swing by Pensacola if you're still there and we can swill a beer at the club.
Hang tough, shipmate Your friend, Jake One day Jake penned a letter to Callie. Then he put it in the drawer beside his bed. Each day he got it out, read it through and debated whether or not he should mail it.
She probably had another boyfriend. There was'always that possibility. Jake Grafton had no intention of playing the fool, with this or any other woman. So he kept the letter formal, as if he were writing to a great-aunt. He omitted any reference to Ins adventure with the pirates or the fad that he was just now residing in a hospital room. But on the second page he said this: I've decided to stay in the Navy. It has been a tough decision and I've had to really wrestle with it. The arguments for getting out are many and you know most of them. The Navy is a large bureaucracy, anyone who thinks the bureaucracy will miss them when they are gone is kidding himself.
Still, this is where I belong. I like the people, I can do the work, I believe the work is important. Of course the Navy is not for everyone, but it is, I believe, the best place for me. I know full well that there is nothing that I can do here that others cannot do better, but here.i can make a contribution.
He closed with a few pleasantries and the hope that all was fine with her.
On New Year's Eve he got it out again to read it through carefully.
The tone was wrong, all wrong.
He added a P.s.
As I reread this letter it occurs to me that I've made a very stupid mistake. The last few months I've been so busy worrying that you might not love me as much as I love you that I lost sight of what love is. Love by its very nature opens you up to getting burned.
I love you, Callie. You were a rock to hang on to the last year of the war, the one sane person in an insane world. And you've been a rock to hang on to these last six months. You've been in my thoughts and in my dreams.
If I love you more than you love me, so be it.
I'm tough enough to love and lose. But I just wanted you to know how much I care.
As ever, Jake In the third week of January he and Flap moved to the BOQ- They continued to visit the hospital on an outpatient basis.
Flap took daffy physical therapy to overcome the effects of his head injury. The knife wound in his side drained slowly and healed stubbornly. Eventually it did heal, leaving a bad scar.
Jake merely needed a checkup occasionally. His collapsed lung and the resultant infection had been more serious than the bullet hole in his shoulder, which healed quickly, yet by now he was well on his way to a complete recovery. He went with Flap every morning anyway and kibitzed as the Marine went through his exercises. Then they went to the golf course and rode around in a golf cart.
One day they rented clubs. They merely slapped at the balls, since neither man could swing a club with any vigor.
Slap the ball a hundred feet, using mostly arms and wrists, get in the cart and drive over to it, slap the thing again. It was crazy, but it felt fine.
After that they played daily. Gradually the shoulders and ribs loosened up and they swung more freely, but neither man had ever played much golf and neither was very good.
They were standing on the carrier pier at Pearl Harbor when Columbia arrived in early February.
"Look who has returned!" the Real McCoy shouted when they walked into the ready room. "The prodigal sons are back!" "We only came aboard for a change of underwear.
It's been hell, golf every day, hot women every night..." They were surrounded by people shaking their hands and welcoming them back. When the mob scene had subsided to a low roar, the Real asked Jake, "By any chance did you bring a copy of the Wall Stmet Journal?" "I hate to give you the bad news, roomie, but the market is down a thousand points this morning.
They're talking about a depression." "Aah...... said the Real, searching Jake's face.
"Millionaires are leaping out of windows even as we speak." "You're kidding, right?" After lunch Jake went to his stateroom with McCoy. He crawled into the top bunk and let out a long sigh. "Feels so good." "Got something to show you," the Real said. From his desk he brought forth a series of aerial photos.
"We took these before we smacked that hijacked Cuban freighter. See that big blast area-4hat's where the pile was that you and Flap blew up." con"You guys bombed the Cuban ship?" "Oh yes. The government of Indonesia thought those weapons might go to some of their own indigenous revolutionaries, so they asked for our help before we even offered it." "I never saw anything about it in the papers." "They. never told the press." "I'll be darned." That night the entire squadron went to the 0 Club en masse. It was an epic party, complete with a letter the next day from the C.o. of the base to the captain of Columbia complaining about rowdy behavior and demanding damages.
That night Jake and Flap slept in their bunks aboard ship.
Before the ship sailed, Jake spent a quiet moment with Lieutenant Colonel Haldane.
"I'd like to stay in the Navy, Skipper. I want to withdraw my resignation." Haldane smiled and offered his hand. Jake shook it.
"There's one other thing," Jake said slowly. "I hear that some of the guys are going to get some traps the first day out of port just in case they need to fly during the transit to the States. I'd need too many to get current, but I'd take it as a personal favor if you'd let me and Flap get one." "I need up chits from the flight surgeon." "That's the rub. I think I can get one but I don't think they'll give Flap an up. The doctors at Trippler want him to do more physical therapy. He still has some balance problems." "According to that report we received from CINCPAC, he took a rifle butt in the head." "Yessir. One hell of a butt stroke. He had lost a lot of blood by that time and didn't have the reflexes to minimize the impact." "Well, you and Flap take your medical files to the flight surgeon and have him look you over. Then have him call me.ea% "Aye aye, Sir." Somehow it worked out. Jake and Flap rode the catapult two hours after Columbia cleared Pearl. By some miracle he didn't question he got a plane full of gas, so he had to burn down or dump before he could come back into the pattern.
They yanked and banked and shouted over the ICS as they did tight turns around the tops of cumulus clouds. Jake managed a loop and a Cuban eight before Flap begged for mercy. He was dizzy.
Jake smoked into the break at five hundred knots. The air boss never peeped. Better yet, Jake snagged a three-wire.
On the morning of the fly-off Jake took the Pried-Fly duty.
All the planes of the air wing were to be launched: the crews were selected strictly on the basis of seniority. Tonight they would be home with wives and children and sweethearts.
Jake and Flap were, of course, not flying off.
They were riding the ship into port. Flap had an appointment at the Oakland Naval Hospital and Jake was catching a commercial flight to Oak Harbor via Seattle to pick up his car, then he was taking a month's leave. He thought he would head for Virginia by way of Chicago. Maybe look Callie up, see what she was up to. At the end of the month he would report again to Tiny Dick Donovan at VA-128.
The fly-off went well. One by one every plane on the ship taxied to the catapults and was shot aloft. They rendezvoused in divis
ions over the ship and headed east.
When the last plane was gone and the angel helicopter had settled onto the angle and shut down, theship secured L from flight quarters.
Jake went down to the strangely empty It flight deck and walked around one last time. T Not really. He would be back. If not this ship, then another. Once again he savored the ody aroma of steam seeping up from the catapults, felt the heat as it mixed with the salty sea breeze.
He was wandering the deck when Bosun Muldowski approached. He stunned Jake with a salute.
Jake returned it.
"Hear you're staying in, Mr. Grafton." "Yep. Your example shamed me into it." Muldowski laughed. "It's a good life," he said. "Beats eight to five anywhere. Maybe if I had found the right woman and had some kids... But you can't live on maybes.
Didn't work out that way. You gotta live your life one day at a time. That's the way God fixed it up. Today do what you do best and let tomorrow take care of tomorrow." Jake was packing in his stateroom when the ship docked at the Alameda carrier pier. The Real McCoy had flown off with the Marines-he had earned it. McCoy's steel foodockers sporting new padlocks sat one atop the other by the door.
Stephen Coonts - Jake Grafton 6 - Intruders Page 39