The steward delivered three glasses, just about full of bourbon over ice.
"Don't you think we're about to get in a war, Canidy?" the admiral asked suddenly.
"I hope not, sir," he said. The question made him uncomfortable.
"Yes or no?" the admiral asked impatiently.
"I don't see how we can avoid it, sir," Canidy said. The admiral snorted.
"How would you like to get into it early, Canidy?" General Chennault asked.
"I'd rather not get into it at all, sir," Canidy replied, after a moment's hesitation. He had decided that this was one of those occasions when he would say what he was thinking, rather than what he was expected to say.
"I'm surprised," Chermault said. "The admiral told me you've been flying the new Grumman."
"Yes, sir."
"All that power scare you?" Chennault asked.
"No, sir," Canidy replied. "The airplane's first-rate. But nobody was shooting at me."
The two leathery-faced old pilots looked at each other, and then General Chennault looked into Canidy's eyes. "What do you want out of the service, Canidy?" he asked softly.
"I'm afraid my answer would sound flippant, sir," Canidy said. "Out, you mean? What you want out of the service is yourself?"
"Yes, sir."
"And then what?"
"I'm an aeronautical engineer, sir. I've been offered a job by Boeing."
"They'll have you designing ashtrays for transports," the admiral said, smiling, but meaning it. "You won't be flying."
"They've offered me a job in high-speed airfoil design, sir," Canidy said, unable to let it pass.
"What do you know about high-speed airfoil design?" the admiral asked disparagingly.
"That's my specialty, sir," Canidy said.
"You're one hell of a fighter pilot, according to your records," Chennault said, ending the sparring. "They didn't let you fly the F4F-3 because they liked you or because they thought you were a wing expert."
"General Chennault is a highly qualified judge of fighter pilots, Canidy," the admiral said, offering an olive branch. "That's a hell of a compliment from him."
"I've read the general's book, sir," Canidy said.
"On your own? Or because it was suggested to you?" Chennault asked.
"I was ordered to read it, sir," Canidy said.
"I want your honest opinion of The Role of Pursuit Aviation," the admiral said. "Theoretically, it sounds fine," Canidy said. "Just 'theoretically'?" the admiral asked. "It's never been put to the test of actual combat, sir," Canidy said. "And if it was?" Chennault asked. "I'm not in a position to judge, sir," Canidy said. "But you have, haven't you?" Chennault said. "Speak up, Canidy. Where did I go wrong?"
Chennault's book was a treatise on the interception and pursuit of enemy bombardment aircraft. Canidy had given it a lot of thought.
"I wondered about armament and armor, sir," he said.
Chennault made a "come on" signal with his hand.
"The larger bombers get, the greater their weight-carrying capacity," Canidy said. "Which means they can armor their engines and fuel tanks, and carry more and larger-caliber weaponry, and some armor. And that obviously means a decrease in their speed and maneuverability and range. So long as the enemy doesn't have really large airplanes... like the Boeing B -17... it won't be a problem. But if they do..
Chennault was impressed with Canidy's analysis of his theory. He had himself seen the problems Canidy had spotted. But he did not like to hear them from a young man still damp behind the ears.
"How would you like to go into combat as a pursuit pilot, in say, sixty days?" Chennault asked abruptly.
Canidy felt the skin at the base of his neck curl. The question was asked in dead seriousness.
"I don't think I'd like that at all, sir," he said.
"Christ, when I was your age..." the admiral said.
"Within a year, give or take a couple of months, we're going to be at war," General Chennault said. "If you believe that we're not, you believe in the tooth fairy. You also believe in the tooth fairy if you think the Navy is going to release a healthy, highly skilled pursuit pilot with demonstrated qualities of leadership just before the war starts."
Well, Canidy thought, there it is, right out in the open. Two unpleasantfacts that I have been unwilling to face.
"I'm very much afraid that you're right, sir," Canidy said.
"Of course I'm right," Chennault snorted.
"What is the general proposing, sir?" Canidy asked.
"I'm offering you a one-year contract, Canidy, on behalf of the Central Aircraft Manufacturing Company, Federal, Inc., to go to China and participate in the construction, maintenance, and development of civilian aircraft for the Chinese Air Transport Ministry."
"I'm in the Navy, General." ignoring him, Chennault went on. "What you'll be doing is flying Curtiss P40-Bs against the Japanese. The pay-your pay, I'm offering you a job as a wingman-is six hundred dollars a month, plus rations and quarters and a bonus of five hundred dollars for every aircraft you down."
That was nearly twice what he was paid by the Navy. And, of course, there were no five-hundred-dollar bonuses for primary flight instructor pilots.
"At the conclusion of your contract year," Chennault went on, you will be taken back into the Navy with no loss of time in grade. If you get promoted flying for us, you will receive a similar promotion in the Navy."
"I would be discharged from the Navy?" Canidy asked. "Not just released from active duty, subject to recall?"
"Discharged," Chennault said. "You would leave the United States as a civilian."
"And if I didn't come back in the Navy?"
"You are a gutsy bastard, aren't you?" Chennault asked admiringly. "Saying that in front of the admiral." He paused. "You do your year, and if I'm wrong, and there is no war, I'll guarantee you can come home and go to work for Boeing. You could probably get more money as an engineer in China, come to think of it. But if the United States gets in the war, and I think it will, you'll have to make your own arrangements with the draft board."
"And if I don't want to go to China?"
"Then you go back to your BOQ and forget you ever met me Chennault said. "You won't be able to do that, of course. You'll remember this little encounter, no matter what you decide, for the rest of your life."
"When would I have to go?"
"Sometime in the next thirty days," Chennault said.
"How many others are being asked?"
"In the first group, a hundred pilots. We have a hundred P40-Bs enroute to China."
"Why P40-Bs?"
Chennault paused before replying. "Because our noble English cousins don't want them. They consider them obsolete9" he said.
"OK?"
"I've never flown a P40," Canidy said.
"No one has, the first time," Chennault said dryly.
"May I ask why I'm being asked? I don't have all that much experience."
"All we have to go on is records, Mr. Canidy," the admiral said. "Yours are outstanding."
"One year. And when that's over, I'm out. Is that the proposition?"
"That's the deal," Chennault said. "I won't muddy the waters with any talk of duty, honor, country."
"And how much time do I have to make up my mind?"
"Take whatever it takes," Chennault said. "Two, three minutes.
Canidy had a sense of being caught in something he had no control over. He thought of the cliche "swimming against the stream, and he thought that he really was being recruited for this because of the performance he'd turned in in advanced training. He held the training command record for most holes in a towed target, and he had shot down (according to the motion-picture cameras mounted on the Grumman F317-1 where the.30-caliber Browning machine gun was normally mounted) all four of the advanced fighter training instructors they'd matched him against, one after the other.
It was also, he thought, equally possible that he was being asked to go to China because he
had been judged expendable by his Navy superiors. If that was true, that the Navy felt they could do without him, that could really be dangerous when the war started. Fliers the Navy felt it could do without would be the ones sent on missions where severe losses were to be expected.
"Shit," Canidy said, the word coming without his intending it to. He was aware that both the admiral and General Chennault were looking at him with distaste.
,I'll go he hastily added.
"OKI 9 1 Chennault said. He stood up and offered Canidy his hand. k took Dick Canidy back to the officers' When the admiral's Buic club, Ford and Czernik were gone. He thought that he hadn't been gone all that long, despite all that had happened, and that Bitter nlight still be trying to explain why he had made the unscheduled landing. He went to the bar and ordered a pitcher of beer. He would wait for him.
Bitter didn't show up for two hours. By then, Canidy had decided that "Salty Sam, the Perfect Sailor" had come back to the beer bar while he had been with the admiral, bought the two students the ritual pitcher of beer, and then gone to the BOQ- Salty Sam really hated to drink even a glass of beer during the week, even if he was not scheduled to fly the next day.
I-le was genuinely surprised when Ed Bitter, in a dress white uniform, slipped onto the bar stool beside him.
"I'd given you up for lost I " Canidy said. Something was bothering Bitter. He wondered if Bitter had been struck with a sudden case of officer's honor and confessed his sins to the squadron comman-der.
"I wasn't sure you would still be here," Bitter said.
"I said I would be," Canidy said.
The bartender, a moonlighting whitecap, came up. "What can I get you, Mr. Bitter?" pared The question, Canidy thought, was one Bitter was not pre to immediately answer. The skipper had obviously chewed his ass. itter asked, "What's that?"
Indicating Canidy's glass, B "Bourbon Canidy said.
"Give us two of the same," Bitter said to the bartender.
"Hard likker? The next thing you know, you'll be out wenching!"
Bitter looked at him uncomfortably for a moment, and then opened the catch of the high-collared blouse before replying. suppose it's a delayed reaction to what happened this afternoon."
"I suppose," Canidy said. "Well, hell, it's over. Or did something happen when you reported to the skipper? That is why you're all dressed up?"
That innocent question produced another strange look.
"No. I mean to say, he accepted my explanation that it was nothing more than an unscheduled, precautionary landing."
"Lying is like fucking, Eddie," Canidy said. "The first time is sometimes difficult, but after a while you get used to it."
The drinks were served. Canidy downed his and reached for the fresh one.
"Have you ever thought of selling your Ford?" Bitter asked.
"What brought that up?" Canidy asked.
"Well," Bitter said, uncomfortable, "when I saw the skipper, he told me I'm being considered for a temporary duty assignment at NAS Anacostia."
"And?"
"I thought I'd sell my car before I went," Bitter said. "And if you sold your Ford, and needed a car, I could make you a good price."
"What are you going to do at NAS Anacostia?" Canidy asked innocently.
"I... uh... really haven't been told," Bitter said.
"Christ, I hope you were more convincing, not that it really matters, when you lied to the skipper about your altitude when your engine quit , " Canidy said.
W'at do you mean?" Bitter demanded sharply.
Canidy put his fingers to his temples. "Confucius say," he said, ""Every man fly P40-B once for first time."'
Bitter was genuinely surprised that Canidy knew.
-Keep your voice down. Someone is liable to hear you." 41 1 Eddie Canidy said. ve got bad news for you, "What 9s that?" an hour before you did, I'm going "That since I signed on about to outrank you in the Chinese Air and Rickshaw Service, too."
: THREE Pensacola Naval Air Station Pensacola, Florida 9 June 1941
There was a little slop time written into the primary training program, slack time between the cross-country flight and the graduation ceremony on the last Friday of the training period when the students would get their wings. Things went wrong. Bad weather could delay training flights; students or instructors could become ill. But if everything went according to schedule, there were anywhere from three to four days with nothing for instructor pilots to do.
IPS would check in at 0730 with the primary flight skipper, and he would then tell them to take off. That meant spending the day playing golf, or lying on the incredibly white beaches of the Gulf of Mexico, or just hanging around the BOQ.
Ed Bitter and Dick Canidy reported for duty the day after their meeting with General Chennault fully expecting to be told by the skipper to take off. But that didn't happen.
"Don't ask me what it's all about," the skipper told them, "because I don't know. All I know is that your services are required by the admiral for the rest of the week. You're to call his aide."
He handed them a name and a telephone number scrawled on a sheet of notepaper.
They called the aide, and he told them to meet him at hangar six, across the field from primary training. When they got there, he was standing outside the hangar office. He walked them away from the hangar, onto the line of aircraft parked off the taxiway, until he stopped in the shadow of a transient aircraft, a Douglas TBD-l. It carried the numbers VT-8, the only shore-based squadron of the six TBD-l-equipped torpedo bomber squadrons in the Navy.
"Either one of you got any time in one of these?" he asked, seemingly idly.
Both shook their heads. The aide shrugged and handed Canidy a thin sheaf of mimeographed orders. Bitter read over Canidy's shoulder: Lieutenants (j.g.) Bitter and Canidy were ordered by NAS Pensacola to make training flights in TBD- I aircraft between points within the continental limits of the United States during the fourteenday period commencing 8 June 1941.
"I don't know how to fly one of these," Canidy said.
"I'll walk you through it," the aide said, "and take you around the pattern once or twice." He had planned to tell them nothing more, but when he saw their confusion, he felt sorry for them.
"You didn't get this from me, understand?" he said, and when they nodded their agreement, he went on. "General Chennault is trying to get fifty, or maybe the entire hundred of them in the Navy, for his Chinese. For your volunteer group. The admiral doesn't think the Navy will turn them loose. But it might, and if it happens, there should be somebody over where you two are going who knows how to fly them. Understand? Once an IP, always an IK'
"What are we supposed to do, shoot touch-and-goes?" Canidy asked. "So people can see us, and ask what are two primary IPS doing shooting touch-and-goes with a torpedo bomber?"
"Do whatever you want with it," the aide said. "As long as you don't do it here. With the orders I just gave you, you can get fuel and whatever else you need at any military air base in the country. What you're supposed to do is get time in the airplane. How you do thatas long as you do it away from here, and are back for the graduation parade-is up to you."
The TBD-1, called the Devastator, was an old-timer, first flown in 1935. It had a nine-hundred-horsepower Twin Wasp radial engine and was primarily designed to launch torpedoes at enemy shipping.
: It carried a crew of three: a pilot; a torpedo officer/bomb aimer, usually an aviator; and an enlisted man, a tail gunner, who was known as **skip**an airdale. The torpedo officer/bomb aimer performed his function on his stomach under the pilot's seat, looking out through two windows in the bottom of the fuselage. The aircraft could carry one torpedo in a rack under the fuselage, or twelve one-hundred-pound bombs, six under each wing.
Normally, when pilots transitioned into a new aircraft, there was at least a week's ground-school training. This was then followed by an orientation flight, during which an IP gradually and carefully permitted the student to take over the airplane.
; Two hours after Canidy and Bitter met the admiral 7s aide at hangar six, he certified them as qualified to fly the Devastator.
"Sir," Canidy asked, "please correct me if I'm wrong, but the way I read our orders, we are permitted to go anyplace we want to. We could head for San Diego if we wanted to, is that right?"
"That's right," the admiral's aide said. "I thought I made that clear."
"Yes, Sir," Canidy said. "Thank you, Sir."
Cedar Rapids, Iowa June 10, 1941
W E B Griffin - Men at War 1 - The Last Heroes Page 6