She patted him on the shoulder and walked over to the command center. She saluted General McIntyre and said, "Patrol checking in. Any word on Carter, sir?"
He nodded morosely and she feared the worst. He finally replied, "They located his airplane today. They did not find a body."
She smiled, "So he could still be alive!"
"Quite possibly. The plane was found on the Japanese side of the river so we can assume he has been taken prisoner."
"That's better than only finding a body, sir."
"Yes, I suppose it is," he said, though not sounding very convinced. "But it's never easy—and him with that game leg and all. I've already gotten word to the Chaplain to have them mention it at prayer meeting this evening."
Not sure why she tempted the breach of protocol—or private matters, at the least—Bronwyn asked, "Are you a praying man, sir?"
He turned and looked out the window a long while before replying, "I am, Captain. You probably haven't seen me at the chapel because, well, I don't have much use for the trappings of religion. But I do believe there's someone bigger than you and I out there and I try my best to stay in touch with him." After a moment, he asked, "What about you, Captain? Are you a praying woman?" He held up his hand and said, "It's none of my business—"
"I'm trying to learn how to become one," Bronwyn replied.
As a team of doctors checked Jason over from head to foot, Gustav Schulz asked, "What happened up there?"
"It was weird, Colonel," Jason told him with emphasis. "I can't even really explain it, but there was a sort of disorientation after the transport."
Suddenly a doctor was shining a light in his eyes and asking him if he still felt disoriented. Jason wanted to shove the doctor away, but said calmly, "Not at all. I feel fine. It was more like—um—like when you wake up in a strange place. Like when you were a kid and spent the night at a friend's house. For just that split second you're expecting it to be that bedroom you're used to, but it's not. For a moment you're a little disoriented then you realize where you are and it's no big thing. It was like that."
The doctors pronounced him a clean bill of health and left. As soon as they were gone, Jason told Gustav excitedly, "It was incredible! Abilene to Lake Haskell—more than sixty miles—in less than the blink of an eye." With more reservation, he added, "There's just one problem: the disorientation. It didn't last long, but I would have to say it was pretty profound while it lasted."
As he stood up and put his shirt on, he shook he head and said, "It wasn't too bad because, I think, Haskell doesn't look all that different from Abilene. But I'm wondering what it would be like if you jump from the plains to . . . the mountains—or right into a thunderstorm. What if you jumped from day to night—or vice-versa? That could really throw a guy."
Gustav nodded at Tony and remembered, "You wondered about something like that, did you not?"
"But when we saw what it was like to make the little jumps around here, we dismissed the idea. Perhaps there's none of that here because the scenery doesn't change at all."
Gustav looked back at Jason, "You look like you have an idea."
"The Comal 42 is built to take on a co-pilot. I say we rearrange the Eddie equipment a little and put one in there."
"But won't that just give us two disoriented pilots?" Tony queried.
"Maybe not," Jason told him. "I was thinking about this on the flight back from Haskell. The traditional way, it takes a little longer, you know? The disorientation is purely visible—I think. What if the co-pilot puts on some goggles with the lenses blacked out at one minute before transport. At the point the pilot says 'Go,' or maybe a second later, the co-pilot rips the goggles off and isn't disoriented. Not as much as the pilot, anyway. Mainly, it'd be a precaution more than anything."
Gustav nodded his bald head, "You may have something."
"Plus, " Kerrigan added, "If we're really thinking of using this for, um, delivering a bomb, you'd need a bombadier up there. Just flying this thing and paying attention to Eddie is like being a one-armed paper hanger as it is. Adding another duty might be a little too much. Especially if you're coming under fire at the other end or something like that."
Gustav, whose mind took facts in and jumped immediately to solutions asked, "Do you have someone in mind? Another pilot?"
Kerrigan shrugged and told him, "A week ago I could have said yes without reservation, but the guy I had in mind was shot down and is presumed dead."
"So sorry. It was your wingman you mentioned?"
Kerrigan nodded his head sadly, then looked up, snapping his fingers. "When I was in Las Cruces they said there was one other pilot who fit what had been requested. College degree in the sciences, no family and all. Maybe we could still get him, whoever he is."
"I will put in a call right away," the German said as he walked hastily over to the phone.
"Not much moss grows on him, huh?" Jason smiled at Tony.
"And he'll get that pilot, too, Jason. Gustav's a genius and the brass knows it. What Gustav wants. Gustav gets."
Kerrigan was at the train station that Friday afternoon to meet the pilot Gustav had requested. He didn't have a name—because Gustav claimed to have not been given the name—just the instructions to pick up a woman captain who would be arriving on the afternoon train from Big Spring. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to pick her out of the crowd as fully three-quarters of the people traveling by train were likely to be military in this season of war. These little details hadn't seem to phase Gustav as he had sent Kerrigan on the mission and quickly returned to his calculations for the next flight, which was to be a longer one—going from Abilene to Lubbock.
So Kerrigan leaned against a post and watched with disinterest as the train pulled in and the airbrakes whistled that sound that some people felt charming but struck Kerrigan about the way fingernails on a chalk board affect most people.
It was his plan to figure out who the captain was, give them a ride out to Kirby, then go out and get some bar-b-q with the enlisted men like he had done every Friday since coming to Abilene. They had found a good place over on Walnut Street and Kerrigan looked forward to it all week long, often slipping over there during the week, too, if his schedule permitted..
With another squeak and a hiss, the train came to a stop and the conductor got off the train hollering, "Abilene. Everybody off for Abilene. Five minutes in Abilene."
He put down the wooden step and Kerrigan almost fell off his post as he looked up to see that the first person getting off the train was Bronwyn Dalmouth. He straightened up and asked, with fumbling tongue, "Lieutenant? What are you doing here?"
She held up her collar to him and said, "It's Captain now, Captain. And I'm here to report for duty at Kirby Research Facility." She smiled and chided, "You must be the lackey they sent to pick me up."
Chapter Eight
"Do you think you'll miss it? The combat?"
By the light of the juke box and a candle in a red jar, Captain Dalmouth replied, "I don't think so. Three months ago when I was in flight school and had just graduated at the top of my class, I would have said yes. The idea of trading a 'juicy' combat job for a cushy test-pilot job would have been anathema."
"What changed?"
"I've been shot at and hit almost two dozen times and I've had two mid-air collisions—one of them on purpose. I'm as patriotic as the next person and I would have stayed there if asked, but every time I saw one of those bullet holes I knew I couldn't keep dodging the bullet forever—literally. So I don't think I was as disappointed to get this assignment as you were." After a moment, she asked, "Do you miss it?"
"I did at first. Still do when I think about all of ya'll still out there and me safely back here. But I do enjoy what we're doing. It's, um, pretty incredible."
"Safely? As a test pilot?" she chuckled. "By the way, what are we doing?"
"I better let Gus—General Schulz tell you that."
They ate in silence for a while, savoring what was easily the best b
ar-b-q in Abilene, if not the whole Big Country. After a while, Bronwyn said sheepishly, "I want to apologize for the way I acted when you left Crockett."
Kerrigan smiled and said, "I enjoyed the way you acted when I left Crockett. I know I didn't say anything at the ti—"
"No. Not the kiss." He thought she blushed, but he wasn't sure in the dim light of the cantina. And the red jar around candle made everything look like blush. "I don't regret that—except that it was a little embarrassing. And that maybe I should have warned you. I didn't really know myself I was going to—anyway—," she fanned herself nervously and then he knew she was blushing. "I—I want to apologize for not coming to see you off like everyone else did."
With an embarrassed look of his own, he shrugged, "To tell you the truth, the send-off you did give me made me forget anything else that happened that day."
"Really?" She asked excitedly. Then, with a blush he could see even in the dim light, she told him, "I didn't come to see you off because I was mad at you for going. I know you didn't have a choice, but —"
"Actually I did," He interrupted.
"Huh?"
"I did have a choice, sort of. It was highly recommended from very well-placed sources that I take this post, but I did sort of have an out." He had been moving his brisket and beans back and forth across his plate as he said this. Now he looked up and said, "They told me there was a less-experienced pilot who fit the qualifications they wanted in a test pilot. Masters degree in the sciences, excellent flying skills, and no family. I could have passed the whole thing on to that person, but I couldn't see doing that to someone—especially someone I didn't think I knew. And then today I find out that that person is you."
Bronwyn nodded, "That's me."
"So that's what you meant when I first announced my transfer here, isn't it? When you talked about losing people, I thought you were just talking about losing the other pilots in the 187th. But you weren't, were you? It's a whole lot deeper than that, isn't it?" He suddenly held up his hands, "It's none of my business. I'm sorry."
"I don't mind," Bronwyn shook her head. "Yes, you're right. I am alone. My parents were killed when I was twelve. Remember that big train wreck just outside of Corpus ten years ago? Made all the papers?" At his nod, she continued, "My parents were on that train. They were both teachers and had gone down to Beaumont for a big convention. I stayed with my grandfather after that. Then he died two years ago. He was ninety-one, so he had a good life. I think he was sorry to not see me get my college degree. He'd worked so hard to see that I got there—then wouldn't let me even think about coming home when I got discouraged. Used to come see me a lot to keep me from getting homesick. But then he died and there wasn't a home to get sick for." She sighed, then added hopefully, "Maybe he saw it all from heaven."
"And you don't have anyone else?"
"Nope. My dad's folks were gone before I was born. He never had any brothers or sisters and the one sister I had died of meningitis when she was two. Gramma died when I was five." She tried unsuccessfully to sound flippant as she quipped, "Getting to know me may not be a good idea, Jason. People around me seem to die."
"I know the feeling," Jason told her, sounding genuinely flippant. "Want to hear my story?"
"I'm willing, but don't feel like you have to say something you don't want to—"
He reached across the table and took her hand as he said, "It doesn't bother me to tell it anymore." He looked away into the darkened room, where others talked in hushed voices. He suddenly let go of the hand self-consciously before telling her, "I'm an orphan, I guess, though you usually don't hear that said of an adult. My father died when I was eight. Just worked himself to death, I guess. That was back in Haskell—north of here. After that, my mom and I moved out to Paint Creek to be near some friends of hers who promised her a job. She worked it and took in laundry on the side and saw that I got off to school and did all my school work and everything then she died when I was thirteen. Worked herself to death just like Pa did. They were both in their forties when I was born, so they were probably already pretty tired." He forced a chuckle, "Probably a little surprised to meet me, too. They were all I had. Never knew my grandparents. Not even sure where my parents were from originally. Pretty sure it wasn't from Haskell. By the time I thought to ask, they were gone."
"So what did you do?"
"I took over my mom's laundry business and did it nights after school. Folks felt sorry for me, I guess, and kept bringing their business to me even though I probably didn't do as good a job with it as my mother had. Some of them used to throw in a ham or something like that when they paid me, though. That was really nice of them. People are like that in small towns, you know? Still wasn't enough to get by on, though. Luckily, I was a pretty good athlete. One of the coaches over in Haskell heard about me and talked me into transferring over there and playing for their high school. Found me a little garage apartment and some after school work and saw that I was taken care of until I graduated. Used to take me to church over at the big Christian Church over on Brick Street. Treated me like I was kin. That whole church did, really.
"After high school, I got a scholarship to Tech and ran track there while getting my degree. That was when the war broke out and I joined up but the Army sent me back to school 'cause they said my grades were so good and that I exhibited the makings of an officer. Got my undergraduate's work done and went straight into the Army Air Corps. They sent me back for my Masters so that—in theory—I could help them build runways. But I turned out to be a pretty good pilot, so they've had me flying ever since and all that money they spent on getting me an engineering degree seems kind of wasted. Anyhow, from there I went to Crockett. That's the story of my life up until now. Not very exciting."
It occurred to him to wonder why he hadn't told her about Susan. It wasn't that he wanted to hide the fact from her—it could be found by anyone who looked at his military record where he was listed not as "Single" or "Married" but "Widowed." It was more that he felt to throw the story in with everything else made him seem even more pathetic than he already felt. And it would just serve to strengthen her assertion that he had some sort of death wish.
He had given a lot of thought to her accusation of his death wish. And the more he had tried to balk at the suggestion, the more he had to admit that he couldn't raise a very in depth argument. He was pretty sure he had never actually courted death, but neither had he shied away from it. He knew enough of the Bible to know people weren't married in heaven, but he figured he wouldn't mind. Just getting to be with Susan—in any capacity—would be worth whatever else came with the package.
The moment seemed strangely intimate to Bronwyn and she didn't like the feeling. She told herself that it was because she was going to be working with this man and intimacy among officers who served together was never a good idea, but the real reason was that she was afraid of intimacy. What she had said jokingly, she really felt: people close to her died. The closer they seemed to be to her, the quicker they seemed to die. She knew deep down that she couldn't really be the cause, but she couldn't entirely shake the suggestion from her head.
As if to drive home the point, she asked, "Did you hear about Carter?"
"Yeah," he told her morosely, "Missing and presumed dead. Why presumed?"
Bronwyn shrugged, then replied, "Now it's missing but presumed captured. He went down just short of the border. We sent in a rescue team, but they weren't able to find him. Found the plane, but no body."
"Maybe the Japanese picked him up."
"'Official word' from the embassy is that they didn't. He might have tried to walk out, but he was just barely off crutches. He couldn't have walked far. Officially, he's listed as 'Missing in Action,' but you got the real word: presumed captured." With a chuckle that sounded like it emanated from vocal chords that were lined with sandpaper, she added, "Of course, he was my wingman when he went down. You realize Mulchahey's the only pilot to ever survive that assignment since I graduated
from flight school."
"I'm really sorry, Bronwyn."
"He was your wingman, too, wasn't he? Carter, I mean."
Kerrigan nodded, "Last eighteen months. Assigned to me the day he hit Crockett and they never split us up. Always thought we'd be really good together in combat, but we never got to try." He put on a genuine smile and said, "If anyone can walk out of the desert, though, it's Carter. This is at least the third plane shot out from under him that I know of."
"Really?" Bronwyn actually smiled then.
"Yeah. He walked away from one of them with a concussion that anyone else would have died from. He hit the yoke hard enough with his forehead that it snapped the stick but he barely had a scratch. Wouldn't have even known about the concussion except that his pupils were a little dilated when the corpsmen checked him over."
"Maybe the Japs will want to give him back," she laughed.
She ate a bite or two, then, without looking up, said, "I still want to tell you what happened the day you left."
Not a big fan of intimacy himself, Jason laughed, "I got one of the best kisses I've had since—in a long time."
Avoiding what she really wanted to say, Bronwyn looked up with mock indignation, "'One of the best'? I'm a darn good kisser and—hey!—who else have you been kissing?"
"No one," Jason answered with a truthfulness that sounded almost sad in his voice. "I haven't kissed—or been kissed—in a long time."
"It showed," she teased, then regretted it when she thought she saw a look of pain flit across his face. It was gone as quickly as it had arrived, so she went on with what she had meant to say much earlier. "The explanation I wanted to give you was that I have no explanation. It's just that, well, for those few days when we were flying over Crockett it seemed like the four of us were becoming a real team. A great team. Then boom! everything's changed. So, it's like I was a little girl and I thought if I wasn't there when you were supposed to leave that you wouldn't really leave. Like a kid that pretends something in the hopes that it will come true. And, maybe, in the back of my mind was the idea that you really wanted to leave and I resented you for that." She went back to her food for a moment, then added, "But then, like I said that day, I couldn't stand to let you go without telling you good-bye. So I practically ran to the depot and—and made a fool out of myself."
The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 3): Lost Time Page 13