Kamigami moved to the side, watching, not fully understanding the fury playing out on the threshing floor. The girl tried to herd the children away, but they wanted to watch and climbed on top of the wall. Two of the older boys rushed at the crowd and pushed their way in.
They were saving the lieutenant for last.
The girl studied Kamigami’s face for a moment. “You don’t understand,” she said in Cantonese. It was not a question, only a simple statement of fact. “By taking their rice, the soldiers were sentencing the village to starvation. Many would have died this winter.”
Kamigami understood most of what she said. “What will they do to the officer?”
“The old women want to cut him up,” the girl replied, still speaking Cantonese. “But the village elders want the cage. That way, he kills himself.” She looked out over the rice paddies, seeing the future. “They will build a tall and narrow bamboo cage with a wooden collar in the top. Then they will pile stones at the bottom for him to stand on. The stones will be high enough for his neck to fit inside the collar. Each day, they will remove a few stones until he is standing on the tips of his toes. He will live three, maybe four days, before he strangles.”
Again, Kamigami understood most of what she had said. “Killing should be fast,” he told her.
“There is justice in it,” the girl said. “Starvation is slow.”
“You will watch him die?”
The girl turned to him. “No,” she said in broken English, “I go with you.”
The girl’s quiet words rang through Kamigami with a clear, bell-like finality. It was a statement of fact, not to be questioned. “I’m not so sure you really want to do that,” he said. The girl only looked at him.
Zou and the old man joined them. “I have spent too much time in the countryside,” Zou said. “You have taught me many things but it is time I return to Nanning.”
“She wants to go with us,” Kamigami said.
“I want to go with you,” the girl said in Cantonese, looking at Kamigami.
“You may go where you wish,” Zou told Kamigami. “I know you are anxious to return to your home.”
Kamigami said nothing, thinking. Zou had been consistent in his promise from the very first. Now it was press to test time. “I want to go to Hong Kong,” he said.
Much to his surprise, Zou only nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “I expected that. I am sad to see you go. Your help would have been invaluable. But I ask one more favor of you. Will you please tell your president what you have seen here? Tell him that the old cycle of protest and repression has started again in the land of the Pearl River. Tell him that we are spilling our blood to escape our history of helplessness. Tell him that Zou Rong wants to give his people their voices. Your president will understand.”
“I can try to deliver your message,” Kamigami said. “But I seriously doubt that I can reach the president.”
“Your daughter can,” Zou replied.
Kamigami stiffened, his mind racing with the implications. Zou wanted a conduit to the president of the United States and was using him to reach Mazie.
“My people will see you safely to Hong Kong,” Zou said, ending the discussion.
“Do you want to come with me to Hong Kong?” Kamigami asked the girl. She nodded. “My name is Victor Kamigami,” he told her.
“My name … Li Jin Chu.”
“Her name, Jin Chu,” Zou said, “means True Pearl in Cantonese.”
“It fits perfectly,” Kamigami allowed.
Friday, February 9
Whiteman AFB, Missouri
It took almost three weeks for the safety investigation board to finish its work. When the report was typed, Tucker requested an outbrief with Pontowski to discuss the SIB’s findings. He had some very pointed comments about the performance of one Major Frank Hester that were not in the report. After Tucker had left, Pontowski read the report and then asked Waters to send it to Hester. “Tell Frank to see me after he’s read it,” he told her. Three hours later, Hester was in Pontowski’s office, report in hand.
“What do you think?” Pontowski asked.
Hester shrugged. “Pretty much your standard accident report. Pilot error. What I expected.”
“And you disagree?” Hester shrugged in response. “Personally,” Pontowski continued, “I think the primary cause was supervisory error, not pilot error. We should have grounded Leonard.”
“We?” Hester replied.
“Specifically, you should have grounded him,” Pontowski answered, his voice emotionless, matter-of-fact, “or recommended that I ground him. You did neither.”
“Didn’t I?”
“No you didn’t. And the SIB didn’t buy your implication that you had.”
“That wasn’t in the report,” Hester snapped, “and Tucker the Fucker shouldn’t have told you. That was confidential and you know it. I’m going to the IG.” He stood to leave.
“I didn’t dismiss you,” Pontowski said. “Please sit down.” There was steel in his voice, and Hester obeyed. Pontowski hit the intercom button to Water’s desk. “Captain Waters, please come in and bring your tape recorder. I need you to act as a witness and have a statement typed up for Major Hester.”
A knock at the door broke the silence that ruled the room. “Come,” Pontowski said. Waters entered and set her mini cassette tape recorder on his desk. She punched the start button and announced the date, the location, and who was present at the meeting. “Statement for Major Frank G. Hester, operations officer of the 303rd Fighter Squadron,” Pontowski began. “I declare under penalties of perjury of the Uniform Code of Military Justice that no member of the safety investigation board revealed to me any of the testimony or proceedings of said board.” He turned the recorder off and looked at Hester.
“You’ll get a typed and signed copy,” Pontowski said, “then you can run to the inspector general, write your congressman, or see the chaplain. Your choice.”
“You’ll have my resignation on your desk in an—” Pontowski interrupted him. “I’ll shoot it right back and tell you to resubmit in ninety days.”
“You can’t do that,” Hester spluttered. “Lincoln freed the slaves.”
“It’s a question of flying safety,” Pontowski said, “and leadership.” Hester stared at him, at a loss for words. Pontowski leaned back in his chair. “I haven’t got a clue about the strengths and weaknesses of my pilots. You do. True, I can get someone else to do your job and the squadron might, just might, muddle through without anybody else bustin’ their ass. But I’d rather bet on your past record.” A voice from his own past came back, pounding at him with a meaning he had only partially understood at the time. Now his turn.
“When I was a lieutenant,” Pontowski said, “Jack Locke was my squadron commander.” He could tell from Hester’s look that the name meant nothing to him. “Jack Locke was one of the best sticks who ever strapped on a fighter. He taught me that without leadership, a fighter puke isn’t worth shit. And the key is a sense of responsibility—I didn’t have it then.” Pontowski’s voice was filled with pain of remembering. “Do you have it now? Or are you going to desert your men?”
“You could solve the problem by resigning,” Hester grumbled.
“I know who was the second choice to get the squadron,” Pontowski told him. “How would you support him?” Hester looked sick. He had assumed that he would have gotten command of the squadron if Pontowski had not applied. “The ball’s in your court,” Pontowski said. Hester still did not answer. “Look,” Pontowski said, “stay and do your job for ninety days. If the squadron has another accident during that time, I’ll resign.”
“Why?” Hester asked.
“It all comes down to leadership. As the commander, I’m responsible, and if we have another accident, I’ll have blown it. Ripper here heard it all.” He nodded at Waters. “You’ve got a witness.”
Hester stood up. “You’ve got ninety days.” He saluted and left.
“Ri
pper?” Waters asked, disbelief in her voice.
“As in ‘Jack the.’ Do you like ‘Legs’ better?”
Waters understood. Pontowski had defused the issue by simply giving her another nickname, hoping his would stick. “Will there be anything else?” she asked. He shook his head.
Outside, she leaned against the wall, holding the mini cassette to her chest. Her own memories were back, demanding a price. Jack Locke had learned that same lesson on leadership from her husband, Muddy. Where had Muddy learned it? Was it as painful for him? Is this some kind of torch they pass down? She walked slowly to her desk, certain that she had made the right decision. She would give Matt Pontowski her undivided loyalty and be the best executive officer she could.
Lori Williams was waiting for her, fingering a message. “This just came in,” she said. “We’ve been deactivated. We get chloroformed in six months.”
The 303rd Fighter Squadron was a casualty of the peace dividend.
CHAPTER 4
Saturday, February 10
Whiteman AFB, Missouri
A sudden jerk and light snore from Matt’s side of the bed woke Shoshana. She glanced at the clock—five minutes after two. Her husband was having a restless night and sleep was impossible. She sat up and got out of bed to check on Little Matt. As usual, he had kicked his blankets off. She tucked him in and returned to bed. “Are you okay?” Pontowski asked.
“I’m fine,” she answered. “Little Matt kicked his blankets halfway across the room.” She gave a little laugh. “He had an erection.”
“At his age?”
She snuggled against him. “It’s a Pontowski trademark,” she said. He could hear amusement in her voice.
He switched on the light to look at her. Her long black hair cascaded across the pillow and her face glowed. “You are beautiful,” he said as he rubbed her back.
“Go to sleep.” She recognized his intention.
“No way,” he said, still caressing her.
“You put goats to shame,” she scolded as she turned to him and returned his caresses.
Later, she arranged the pillows, propped herself into a sitting position, and started to brush her hair. “Okay, talk. What’s bothering you?” Shoshana knew her husband too well. He only had trouble sleeping when he was wrestling with an intractable problem.
Silence. “This isn’t fun,” he finally said.
“Did you expect it to be?”
“No,” Pontowski answered. “But I was hoping to have a year or two with the squadron … a chance to do something. Now … six months. It changes everything.” He paused, thinking about Leonard’s accident and what Tucker had told him during the outbrief. In many ways, the informal meeting was more valuable to Pontowski than the accident report. Tucker had told him the unvarnished truth based on his own observations—none of which could be proven and included in the accident report.
“You can already feel a ‘who gives a damn’ or ‘why worry about the future when there isn’t one attitude in the squadron. I know it’s affecting their flying and it’s only a matter of time until another one of those swingin’ dicks prangs. I’ve got to keep them from doing something stupid until the squadron stands down from flying.” He had reached the heart of the matter.
“So what must you do?”
“I’m not sure. Probably start grounding a few of them.”
“And you don’t want to do that.”
“No. That’s not the way to end a squadron like the 303rd. These guys have a great record. They’ve gone to Gunsmoke and blown the big boys with their electric jets off the gunnery range.” Shoshana braced herself to again hear about the exploits of the 303rd at Gunsmoke, the biannual tactical bombing competition held at Nellis Air Force Base outside Las Vegas, Nevada. The squadron was always among the top contenders, and one of their pilots had once taken home the coveted Top Gun trophy. But he said nothing and turned out the light.
“Don’t let your feelings rule your head,” she said, her voice a soft comfort in the dark. “Do what you have to and put your personal feelings aside.” She reached out and touched him. “But always remember where you hid them.”
Pontowski tried to go back to sleep. But it wouldn’t happen as the irony of it all bore down. He had wanted a chance to prove himself, free of the .influence of his famous grandfather, and shake the “golden boy” image. Instead, he was contending with the very real dilemma of how to preserve the lives of people he barely knew and who didn’t like him.
He was alone with the agony of command.
“Please have a seat,” Sara Waters said. She motioned John Leonard to a chair next to her desk. “You’re early,” she told him, “and Colonel Pontowski hasn’t returned from a meeting with the wing commander.” She watched him fidget until she couldn’t stand it. “Lighten up, Captain. He’s not the beast from the Black Lagoon.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Ripper,” Leonard replied. “He’s not after your ass.”
Waters arched an eyebrow. So now I’m Ripper, she thought. The boss’s nickname had stuck. She decided Leonard deserved a break. “He’s not after your ass.”
Leonard’s expression was a mixture of disbelief and relief. “I … I was certain,” he stammered, “that he was going to permanently ground me because of the accident.”
“I don’t think so,” Waters said. “At least, I haven’t seen any paperwork to that effect. I know that he is worried about your—”
“Home life?” Leonard interrupted. “That’s sorted out. I left my wife and moved into an apartment.” He warmed to the subject, glad to have someone listen. It was an emotional release. “So far it has been a relief. I guess our marriage has been over for some time but I didn’t have the courage to face it.”
She liked the sound of his voice and gave him a little nudge. “And your job?”
“I’ve got a handle on it. My principal gave me a leave of absence and says he wants me back when I get my feet on the ground.”
She could hear satisfaction now and liked that. “Will you go back?”
“Probably. I like teaching. Besides, there won’t be much else to do after the squadron shuts down.”
Pontowski came through the door and motioned for Leonard to follow him into his office. Leonard came to attention in front of his desk and snapped a sharp salute.
“Captain Leonard reporting as ordered, sir.” Pontowski waved a salute back and told him to sit down.
He came right to the point. “Are you ready to start flying again?” The look on Leonard’s face made him want to smile.
“In a heartbeat, sir,” Leonard said. “May I ask a question?” Pontowski nodded a reply. “Why are you doing this? We’re nothing but a bunch of lame ducks and there is no reason to give me a second chance.”
Pontowski forced a hard look. “Captain, until we turn out the lights, the 303rd is going to look like a fighter squadron, talk like a fighter squadron, smell like a fighter squadron, and fly like a fighter squadron. You ready to do that?”
“You bet.”
The tone in Leonard’s voice was exactly what Pontowski wanted to hear. “Good. I’m looking for volunteers to be our flying safety officer. You interested?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be the best flying safety puke who ever strapped on the title.”
“You’ve almost got the job,” Pontowski told him. “What will be your number-one priority?”
Leonard thought for a moment. “I’m going to change the ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude that everybody is wearing around here.”
Pontowski nodded and punched at his intercom. “Captain Waters, please come in.” Waters appeared in the door holding her notebook. “Please cut orders making Captain Leonard the squadron’s new flying safety officer.”
“My pleasure, Colonel,” Waters replied.
From the tone of her voice and the look on Leonard’s face, Pontowski was certain he had at least two allies. “That’s all,” he said. Leonard stood and saluted while Waters waited for him to lea
ve. “One more thing,” Pontowski added. “I want the squadron to go out in style. You two see if you can come up with some ideas.” He watched them leave. Style my ass, he thought. He wanted a reason for the squadron to fly safe.
Waters kept circling the table in her office, looking first at the schedule of events, then at the publicity posters, then at the map that outlined the different areas. She glanced out the window, surprised that it was dark. Even though she was tired, she couldn’t contain her enthusiasm. “This is brilliant, John, absolutely brilliant.” She bestowed a radiant smile on the pilot, who had collapsed on a comfortable couch. “I think the boss will like this.”
“You deserve a lot of the credit,” he told her. He moved his pudgy body into an upright position and watched her move. Like a cat, he thought. He caught his breath when she bent over the table and her dark blue uniform skirt stretched tight. The Air Force blouse strained at the seams and could not hide her figure. A shot of hormones drove a very lustful feeling into the lower regions of Leonard’s abdomen that was rapidly replaced by the more comforting realization that his ex-wife had not emasculated him. “Look, he said, “we’ve been at this for three days and it’s late. Why don’t we knock off for the night. I’ll lock up.”
Again, she smiled at him, revitalizing the blood vessels in the lower part of his body. “Thanks. I want to call my daughter before she goes to bed. I haven’t seen her in four days. Maybe tomorrow I can get home for a few days.”
“Four days is too long,” the schoolteacher in Leonard said. “Kansas City is too far to commute, so why don’t you move her here?”
“I wonder if it would be worth it for six months,” Waters replied, considering the possibilities.
“I think it would,” Leonard told her. “You can rent a house.”
She gathered up her coat, hat, and handbag and headed for the door. “I’ll think about it,” she said. Leonard let out a long, low whistle after she had left and went about locking up the building.
Dark Wing Page 8