“Good morning, sir. Would you like to go over anything?”
“Not with you, Luther,” Martin had grinned. “Better tell ’em to get in.”
They had both felt a reflex of the pleasure in the compliment as the crew scrambled rapidly out of sight. Martin had walked forward for a studious scrutiny of the girl on the nose before nodding approval.
“She could fly us home with those in a pinch, Casey.”
“Well, take care of ’em, Ted.”
“Yeah.”
They never shook hands. Martin had glanced once more at his watch, winked, and stepped briskly toward the hatch when he had stopped and turned back, the grin gone from his face.
“Casey, keep your head with that Congress, will you?”
“Sure. You keep your feet dry, Ted.”
Now as the blurred flesh-colored blob of the girl rolled down the strip away from him, Dennis saw the young pilot’s arm flash in farewell to him. He waved back at the boy with emotion.
The plane gathered way rapidly; in three seconds she was rolling lightly. He strained his eyes, still waving as she began to lift into the mist itself, and at the last second he clearly saw a new figure and another arm suddenly flash from the left waistgate. It comforted him.
He had remained on the roof for most of the next hour, his ears attuned to every vibration of the laborious struggle for altitude and formation, tracing them round and round the shrouded perimeter of the horizon above him. Every circle told its own story of tighter harmony in the throbbing as the last planes off closed up with the first ones and the universal thunder diminished imperceptibly into a high, far drone.
Three times he had held his breath over the sudden blossoming of rockets, discernible even through the mist, but there had been no collisions that morning. Upward and ever upward the diminishing drone corkscrewed away from him. For a time it gained in unity what it lost in proximity while Martin shepherded them expertly together. But the time passed.
As their physical presence receded Dennis had felt again the familiar weight of anxiety descending upon him. The ground commander, delivering battle, can feel his way in, probing with a tentative, ordered sequence of patrols, platoons, companies, battalions. It is almost always his option to terminate the engagement if it appears unfavorable. Similarly naval forces feel for each other with expendable tentacles before deliberately accepting irrevocable commitment.
The offensive bomber force, crossing water, burns the bridges of retreat in its own gas tanks. Every maneuver of battle narrows the margin of its return. But even beyond battle itself lurk hazards of an equally final disaster. An unforeseen change of wind, a serious navigational mistake or careless use of fuel for flight, can force down an entire formation into grounded captivity.
Dennis and Martin had spent long hours with able help, weighing the problems of wind, weather, altitude, speed, and daylight against the counterclaims of flak, fighters, and fatigue. Always the intermediate specter of disaster hovered over each beguiling illusion about the shortest distance between two points. They had emerged with a margin over which they had looked at each other in shocked silence until Martin had burst out laughing.
“I’m going to take my toothbrush.”
Gradually as Dennis listened through the gray mist the arcs of the sound became wider and wider. Once more it came back with a slight rise of force and that time as it began to recede he knew it was fading with the finality of the course. He was starting heavily into the Ops room when a last indulgence of nature rewarded his long vigil.
For a fleeting second some capricious zephyr parted the mist and he had a brief view of the whole column, already miles above him. The upward angles of the early sun had caught their wings and bellies, paling the young daylight they cleft with an arching chain of iridescence.
They were still badly spread out. Ted would not waste a drop of gas to hurry the agonizing process of formation but they had taken their easterly heading. The long, loose procession spangled the sky with an arrowy scintillation, through a brief and final gleam, before Dennis stood alone again in the heavy mist their vibrations no longer troubled. He became aware of silence now as he had then and realized that Mr. Malcolm was repeating a question to him.
***
“Are they undeh fighteh coveh today, Gennel?”
“Not all the way. Fighters will take them to here…” he indicated the final turnback point on the map… “and another relay will pick them up here, coming out. They’ll be on their own the rest of the way.”
“An’ you sent them on youah own authority again?”
“Yes.”
“Is theah any reason why you cain’t fin’ woythwhile tahgets undeh fighteh coveh like the otheh gennels do?”
“These extension tanks were made to enable us to reach the most important targets in their range. We’re doing it.”
“You just sen’ ’em regahdless of fighteh coveh?”
“I thought I’d explained, Mr. Malcolm, that our present fighters can’t reach these targets.”
“You ain’t explained why you puhsonally are the onlies’ one to sen’ ’em beyon’ fighteh coveh every time Gennel Kane got his back turned on otheh business. Neah as I can figuah out more than half the losses of this whole Aih Ahmy come out of these heah recohd attacks fum this one division. Lemme see that tonnage an’ sohtie chaht again, Sahgeant.”
Evans produced the chart grudgingly. He had cherished the illusion of independence for many years but he knew now that he had come to the end of it. In the army, of all places, and to a General, of all human beings, he had come at last to the common burden of allegiance.
There was pride in it, pride that had made him whisper to himself: I bet Dennis makes him sorry he ever stuck his head out of the swamp. But there was pain in it too, the certain pain of the price Dennis would pay for this pleasure.
“I thought so,” said Malcolm. “Every otheh division has consistently increased sohties an’ tonnages excep’…”
“If you’re interested in sortie and tonnage figures, Mr. Malcolm,” said Dennis, “I suggest you visit the training commands. They beat all the operational commands combined—that is, all but the training commands in your state.”
“What are you sayin’ about my state?”
“That every airfield in it is under eighteen inches of water half the year and four to nine thousand feet of solid overcast for nine months. But every time we tried to move somewhere we could operate the recommendations were blocked in your committee.”
Evans held his breath but unexpectedly the open laughter of Stone and Field checked the smoldering combustion in the room long enough for Kane to intervene.
“You’re straying from the subject, General. We all realize, Mr. Malcolm, that the country expects a rising scale of effort from us. We still have tomorrow to bring our monthly totals of sorties and tonnages to a new record high. It would be a great thing for public confidence if your delegation here were to make the announcement. I’m sure we can clear it with the Chief and I’m sure that Brockie here will help us with the press.”
“Are you?” asked Brockhurst pointedly.
“Of course,” said Kane.
Brockhurst subsided but Malcolm knew appeasement when he heard it.
“I’m suah that will help, Gennel. But the announcement the public is really waitin’ foh is the end of these muhderous long-range attacks. If I have anything to say about it…”
“This division’s operations are determined by military directive, Mr. Malcolm,” said Dennis.
Malcolm turned truculently on Dennis and Evans’s heart lifted. The Congressman was formidably larger than the General. One hostile gesture would justify any soldier’s defense of his superior. Evans eyed the Congressman’s crotch with an eager twitching in his heavy shoe. He had never found occasion to use all his army education but the prospects looked promising. They were spoiled for the moment, however, by the entrance of Haley.
“Red and blue forces now approaching ob
jectives, sir.”
Chapter 12
As always the claim of the operation swept everything else from Dennis’s mind. He had forgotten the Congressman towering above him at the first sight of Haley.
“Getting any reaction?”
“Not yet, sir,” said Haley reluctantly, “but they should bomb in about two minutes and a half.”
“Gentlemen,” said Kane, “I’m going to take you down to the radar plotting and signals room myself, but you will probably understand what you’re seeing better if General Dennis gives us a quick résumé on this map first.”
Dennis made short work of explaining the problem on which he had spent most of the night. Through this his visitors followed him attentively with sensible questions. Seen as three lines on a map the problem looked simple. He omitted all mention of the compounding factors of time correlation and gas consumption.
The details of the defenses appeared equally simple. It took little experience to see how quickly German fighters could converge from either side against that center course, how relatively few were the groups on the extremities that might, with luck, be lured into wasting effort on Endicott’s and Salmond’s short stabs in from the protective vastness of their ocean approach and withdrawal courses.
“When will your Fifth Division bomb, General?” asked Field.
“About fourteen minutes now, sir.”
“And these other missions are essentially a diversion to prevent concentration of the defenses against your division?”
“They serve two purposes,” said Kane quickly. “They are attacking very important naval objectives. But of course they will help to split the defenses.”
“Do you expect their diversionary purpose to succeed, General Dennis?” asked Stone.
“Not entirely unless they’ve got a green controller on duty. It may help a little—it’s the best we could do.”
“Gentlemen, General Dennis will not wish to leave his office just now. If you’ll come with me we’ll rejoin him presently,” said Kane.
It was a novelty to be forbidden his own plotting room, however subtly, but the order was unmistakable. Dennis watched them file out with a feeling of relief. But as the last of them stepped through the door and Haley began to lead them down the winding steps to the bombproof nerve center far underground, Kane lingered in the office, his aplomb collapsing in a frantic concern that ignored the presence of Evans.
“Casey, for Christ’s sake be careful…”
“Sir, you promised me Fendelhorst tomorrow….”
“By tomorrow Malcolm could have us both in the Quartermaster Corps in Greenland. Is that citation ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And a good lunch?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And plenty to drink?”
“Why… I hadn’t thought of it, sir….”
“Hadn’t thought of booze with Congressmen here? For God’s sake start thinking… in double triples.”
He closed the door and fled after the party. Dennis allowed some of his indignation to explode into speech before he noticed Evans.
“Booze! It’s a goddamned wonder he doesn’t want opium and slave girls!”
“We can start them on benzedrine and Wacs, sir. Regular field conditions,” said Evans.
“Evans, is there plenty in the officers’ bar?”
“Not a drop, sir.”
“What?”
“End of the month, sir. Quota’s gone.”
“Nothing?”
“Local beer, sir. I suppose Congressmen would drink it but…”
“How about the Medical Officer?”
“He hasn’t been paid back for the time those Cabinet members were here, sir. He’s still dry.”
“God damn democracy!” said Dennis.
“Sir, there are the combat ration stocks.”
“They’re low, aren’t they?”
“Enough for about six missions left, sir.”
Dennis thought but not for long. “All right. These bastards can go dry for one day. Maybe it’ll kill them.”
“Sir, General Kane ordered…”
“Damn it, Sergeant, I can’t sweat whiskey, can I?”
“Sir, just a little from the combat stocks…”
“Not a drop. Now get the hell out of here….”
“I knew there was a catch in this job,” said Evans.
Dennis watched with speechless stupefaction as the Sergeant, in direct disobedience of his order, walked calmly to the Division Flag Locker, unsnapped the padlock and, reaching inside, pulled out some bottles of excellent bourbon whiskey.
“Sergeant, where on earth…?”
“Present from an admirer, sir. It’s too good for the Congress but if we have to…”
“Look here…” said Dennis. He pulled out his wallet, grateful for an excuse to cover his emotion. “You could get…”
“No, sir.” Evans put the whiskey on the map table and shook his head with finality at the money. Then, a little hesitantly, he spoke again. “I’d like one thing for it, sir.”
“What?”
“To shake your hand.”
Dennis extended a hand with the feeling that this transaction was becoming more improper every minute and a scandalized realization that he did not give a damn.
“What’s this for, Sergeant?”
“For telling that servant of the people what a son of a bitch he is,” said Evans.
“Oh… well, you’d better get some glasses and water.”
But as he reached the door Evans heard the General’s voice again. For the first time in his recollection it was not entirely steady.
“Sergeant, I appreciate this.”
“Well, sir, I’d hate… breaking in a new general.”
Haley, returning from the hole, found Dennis staring at the whiskey on the map table with a warmth in his face the Colonel had never seen.
“Well?”
“Not a blip, sir. The Krauts are wise today. I’m afraid Ted’s getting the whole dose.”
“Nothing from him yet, of course?”
“He’s not due for eleven minutes, sir. General Kane is showing his visitors around downstairs. I have some figures.”
They were deep in arithmetic at the board when Garnett hurried into the office.
“Casey, the Old Man says for God’s sake…”
“Just a minute, Cliff. Hurry up, Haley.”
“…and twenty-six of yesterday’s battle damage….”
Watching the concentration with which Dennis agonized over every detail, Garnett wondered now how he could ever have envied him. Kane’s original choice between them had bitterly disappointed Garnett. At the time it had been the best air command in the war for a brigadier and the whole service knew it.
Duty with the United Chiefs, however, had brought Garnett compensations. There had been time to study and analyze the whole war. He had lived with invaluable foreknowledge of what was going to happen. Now, with momentous B-29 commands on the near horizon, Garnett could bless the decision that had fixed Dennis so firmly here and left himself in a position of unique advantage.
The specter of German jets, overhanging the already precarious position of this command, accentuated Garnett’s gratitude for his personal detachment from it. He understood the gravity of the threat and he admired the courage of Dennis’s response to it. But Garnett had seen enough of the highest echelons to know that they required more than courage from subordinate commanders. In the military world as elsewhere men sought and cherished subordinates whose successes seemed to reflect the brighter gleams of a favorable fortune.
Success with the countermeasure of Stitch would be an invisible success, won at gruesome cost. Failure would discredit American Air Power in this theater, dislocate the timetable, possibly reverse Global Strategy. For there was powerful opinion that the B-29s, under the right command, could be decisive in the Pacific.
“…so we should be able to count on a margin of thirty-eight.”
�
��Thanks,” said Dennis. “Send Davis with the noon map.”
As Haley scuttled out Dennis apologized to Garnett.
“Sorry, Cliff. I had to get a reading on tomorrow before that traveling circus gets back in here. What’s up?”
“The Old Man wants you to be more careful with the visiting Elks. Between ourselves, he’s scared, Casey.”
“Yeah.” Garnett thought Dennis looked more sad than contemptuous. “A man who’s held altitude records, scared of Congressmen.”
“Confidentially, Casey, he knows he’s pretty close to that third star.”
“I wonder if that’s where it sets in?” Dennis smiled. “Let me know, will you?”
“You’ll be likelier to let me know, with your record now.”
“Don’t kid me,” said Dennis. “Haven’t you got one of those B-29 jobs sewed up?”
Garnett managed a deprecatory laugh: “I thought so till I suddenly got shunted over here without explanation. Of course it’s only an observation tour but some of that Washington competition is pretty rough. You’re well out of it, Casey.”
This time he could see that Dennis was trying to cover a smile. It served him right. There was no use beating around the bush with a man who knew this business as well as he did.
“Listen, old man, did Ted speak to you about this?”
“No.”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt my chances a bit if the Chief knew he’d like to be my chief of staff out there.”
“Did you talk to him about it?”
“Casey, it isn’t proselytizing when a guy’s your own brother-in-law. It isn’t your fault, but we both know you’ll never be able to give him more than Eagles in this job.”
“What can you give him?”
“One star immediately. And the Pacific looks like a long war.”
“Did he know this last night?”
“Yes.”
Garnett watched tautly while Dennis looked first at his watch and then intently at the map.
“I wish I had.”
“I realise it was… unorthodox of me to speak to him first, but you know yourself you have to handle Ted with kid gloves.”
Dennis appeared to be thinking this over for so long that Garnett was on the verge of elaborating when the reply came.
Command Decision Page 17