by Tom Wilson
The commander from the 354th fighter squadron was taxiing by, leading the afternoon mission. Same target, different players. Mack waved and gave him the finger. The squadron commander responded by extending the F-105's air refueling probe, which itself looked very much like an extended middle finger. Mack pointed his forefinger grimly eastward, toward the enemy, and made a pistol of his gloved hand.
The 354th commander nodded, acknowledging that he understood. They were shooting like hell up there around the Yen Vien rail yard.
"How'd it go, sir?" Chief Master Sergeant Cas Roberts, the squadron maintenance chief, had climbed up the yellow ladder propped on the side of the huge fighter. He took Mack's helmet and handed him his go-to-hell hat.
Mack carefully penned a red hash mark on the snapped brim of the hat, regarded the growing row of such marks on the hat with grim satisfaction, then put it on before stretching.
"Tolerable, Chief Roberts, if you discount the fact that we lost good people and airplanes."
"How many this time, sir?"
"Three of our birds aren't coming home."
Roberts nodded, not rushing him, knowing that he would continue at his own pace. He had known MacLendon for some seventeen years, since Cas had reentered the service following a four-year stint as an auto mechanic in Toledo. Like Mack, this was Roberts's third war.
"Lieutenant Mullens, my number four, got it over the target."
Cas Roberts knew the lieutenant. A farm boy from Arkansas with a slow grin, freckles, and unruly blond hair. "Did he have a good parachute?"
Mack glanced at him, then carefully adjusted the go-to-hell hat squarely onto his head. "No chute, Cas. Lieutenant was into his dive-bomb when he got hit by flak and went straight on in with his airplane."
Roberts expelled a breath. "Quick."
"Yes, mercifully so."
The crust chief master sergeant cleared his throat of the awful Takhli dust, restraining the urge to spit. "Who else, sir?"
"Whiskey three, Captain Murphy's aircraft, was also hit over the target. SAM we believe. His aircraft was heavily damaged, but he was able to nurse it back to Udorn and land. I'll check his status when I get to the command post, but his bird looked all chopped up. You'll have your work cut out for you on that one. You may want to send a survey team to Udorn to see if the aircraft's repairable."
"Yes, sir. I'll put the team together."
"And then there was Captain DiFazio. New guy. Talked with a Boston accent. Hardly got to know him. This was only his fifth or sixth flight. First time in pack six, I think."
"Yes, sir?"
"He was Red Dog three. Went into the dive-bomb and forgot to move it around much. Must've looked like a fat target to the gomers, Cas."
"Yes, sir. Bet he did."
"He was hit by flak over the target. Probably fifty-seven millimeter, because there was a hell of a lot of it, and fifty-sevens put up a lot of steel. He went on and released his bombs, streaming smoke, then pulled off the target, still flying straight and level. I was yelling over the radio for him to jink."
"Damn."
"He just continued climbing out straight and level, and when SAMs were launched at his six o'clock he just kept climbing, calm as you please, looking like a DC-Six at Podunk International."
"Damn," Cas Roberts repeated. He backed down the ladder to make way as Mack dismounted. Feet back on the ground, Mack bent over to relieve the pressure and disconnect the tight crotch and chest straps of his parachute. His mind was still plagued by the mission.
"Half the strike force was watching him, yelling for him to jink, that SAMs were coming, telling him he was on fire and that he'd better bail out. Then he got drilled by all three SAMs, one after the other. It was a nasty sight."
"Any word on Whiskey four? Crew chief there says he's a no-show too."
"He probably landed at Udorn with Whiskey three." Mack grunted with relief as the crotch straps were released and he could properly stand.
"Yes, sir. Makes sense that he would do that." Chief Roberts scribbled a note on his clipboard. They walked around, looking at the aircraft that had brought Mack home.
"How's Evie, Cas?" Mack unzipped his survival vest to half-mast to allow a cooling breeze in, if one should ever come.
"She's well, sir."
It was a part of the ritual. Evelyn Roberts was Cas's wife of some sixteen years. Mack MacLendon had dated her a couple of times before she had met Cas, and he joked with Roberts that he had stolen her away.
"When you get done with this carnival act, drop by my office and bring me up to speed on the aircraft situation, okay Cas?"
"All right, sir." Roberts gave a mirthless grin, "We're gonna have trouble making the schedule until we get replacement birds in here next week."
"We keep losing pilots like this, we won't have anyone left to fly 'em anyway, Cas."
"Yes, sir," said the sergeant with eight stripes on each arm and as much responsibility as any man on base. "We all feel it pretty damned heavy when a bird doesn't come back. It's hard to forget the officers we salute and send out to fly. I know I've tried to just concentrate on the airplanes and forget about the pilots in every war I've been in, and I've failed every time."
"Message received, Cas."
"I got two guys I've gotta watch pretty close, because they're starting to act strange. Both of them were chiefing too many birds that went down. One guy, a damn good man, he's lost four airplanes now that Red Dog three's down, and he was already close to going over the brink, sir."
"Can't let that happen."
"No, sir. I can keep them together for a while, because they're good men, but it's tough on 'em. These guys, couple of my best, are gonna end up vegetables unless we get 'em relief."
"Thank a good R and R to Bangkok or the Philippines might help?"
"Can't hurt."
"Send me the names and I'll cut the orders."
"Appreciate it, sir."
Mack started toward the crew van that had pulled up twenty feet distant, then turned back to Roberts. "Keep 'em flyin', Cas."
"Yes, sir. You can plan on it."
06/1250L—Manila, Republic of the Philippines
Benny Lewis
As they entered the hotel, Liz waved to get a bellboy's attention. "It's almost one in the afternoon," she said in an aside to him. "It seems earlier, doesn't it?"
Benny nodded quietly.
Liz gave the bellboy, an aging Filipino, a few pesos. "Could you take the packages," she asked, indicating the armload Benny was carrying, "to room eight-forty-two? And please be careful."
Benny watched appreciatively. Liz Richardson was an entirely different person from the unsure and frightened woman she'd seemed the night before. Today her manners, poise, and confidence matched her beauty. All morning both Filipino and American men had stolen appreciative looks at her, regarding Benny with a mixture of jealousy and respect. He'd responded with a feeling of guilt, like they'd caught him doing something wrong. The feeling was silly, but he couldn't shake it.
The bellboy took the parcels containing silver and capis shell jewelry and other appropriate junk souvenirs. "Would ma'am like anything else?"
"No, thank you." She turned to Benny. "I'm starved."
They lunched at the ground-floor cafe with its lush tropical garden setting. Wrought-iron chairs and glass-topped tables were set amid tumbling waterfalls, hanging orchids, and birds of paradise. Liz talked about life in San Francisco, and encouraged Benny to talk about himself. But it was like a barrier was drawn about his current life.
As they waited for the check, she reached back to the only breakthrough she had discovered. He found it easy to talk about Benny Junior and Laurie with her.
"You told me the kids' names, but what do you really call them?" she asked.
"He's Little Benny. I'll have to change my pet name for Laurie because she's starting to resent it. That's natural, I suppose, because she's almost three."
"What is it?"
"Puddles."
"Puddles?" She started to laugh.
"Yeah," he said. "She deserved the name when she was a baby, so we called her that."
"That's awful." She laughed so hard that tears formed in her eyes. He found himself chuckling along.
"What else do you call a kid who can soak her way through half a dozen diapers in a single afternoon?"
"She's two?"
He nodded.
"And Little Benny's four? What delightful ages. Just listening, I can tell you love them very much. Kids can sense things like that. They'll adjust."
With her efforts, his mood swings were less extreme. He fished through pictures from his wallet. "Here, that's them. I'd have gotten better ones of Laurie, but she kept squirming."
"She's a little ham, isn't she?"
"She's a flirt, too. I'd better get her into a convent in another couple years."
Liz laughed.
They heard a yell and looked around to see Julie Wright approaching, bubbling with enthusiasm and waving her arms. Benny instantly felt the warmth he'd known the night before.
"You'll never guess, Liz! We went over to Corregidor. The place is simply beautiful, and so full of history it reeks."
"Nothing like reeking history," growled the Bear as he followed Julie up to the table. "Damn if I've ever walked that far in my life."
Liz stiffened as the Bear spoke. She avoided looking at him.
"That where you were?" asked Benny. "Corregidor?"
"Yeah. We were at breakfast by seven-thirty and on our way by eight." He groaned. "Hey lady, I'm supposed to be an invalid. I'm going to get a Purple Heart, remember?"
"You'll deserve another one if you don't order us some coffee pretty quick, big fella. I'm caffeine deficient." Julie turned to Liz. "Want to take a hike to the girls' room?"
"Sure," said Liz. "Excuse me, Benny." The women left, chattering.
"How you doing?" asked the Bear, sitting. He was staring, like he was trying to peer into Benny's skull at what he was thinking.
"We went to Makati and looked at the big buildings, then over to some shops in Chinatown. Saw a lot of junk, and she bought most of it."
"Make out last night?" The Bear looked at him as if he expected details.
"Didn't even try." Benny frowned. God, he thought, here comes another of the Bear's efforts to lift him out of his mood.
"Hell, I get you all set up and you screw it up every time."
"What do you mean, set me up?" Benny wished the Bear would leave things alone, but he knew he would keep trying to get a reaction, thinking he was doing him a favor.
"Well, you know," the Bear continued in a malicious tone, "I got her hot to trot last night, and you were supposed to take over from there. What's wrong, couldn't get it up?"
"Bear, you can be a real asshole sometimes."
The Bear didn't let up. He nodded at the direction the women had taken. "Guess I'll have to do her for you, old pal. Nasty job, but someone's gotta satisfy the poor girl."
Benny knew he was being baited. "You're right, I think she was horny last night. May still be. I'm sure you'll find out." He abruptly rose, tossed five dollars onto the table, and started to walk away.
"You going to walk away from reality again?" The Bear shouted his question.
Benny sighed, feeling weary.
Bear Stewart
People at adjacent tables turned to stare as he marched up behind Benny, grabbed his arm, wheeled him around, and glared. Psych 201 hadn't worked, so he'd let him have it with both barrels. Get pissed off, Benny. Anything's better than feeling sorry for yourself.
"Remember? I was one of the stupid shits that bet my ass trying to get you out of North fucking Vietnam. I'm the one tried to get your mind straight at Clark. Then I tried to hustle Liz last night, but goddammit, when it sunk through that you were interested, I felt happy. I'll bet you just gave her the old sorrow bullshit. Tell you what, Mister Sorrowful, you take a flying fuck at the next doughnut that rolls by. Me, I've had it with your shit."
Both of their faces were flushed with anger now.
The Bear raised a rigid finger and pointed it at Benny's face. "I was even considering flying with you. That was fucking trust in your ability. But buddy, I take it all back. I don't fly with crybabies! I don't even want to fly in the same sky with you!"
The Bear stalked back to his seat, ignoring the open-mouthed people. It would take him time to calm down.
He opened a menu and stared as if he was interested.
Benny returned to the table. "Fuck you too, Bear."
"Ah hell," muttered the Bear, "I shouldn't have been shouting that shit."
"You do have a wonderful way of pissing people off."
"You get pissed off?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
Benny shook his head. "I understand what you're trying to do and when I'm more objective I'll probably appreciate it. For now, Bear, no more social worker, okay?"
"Yeah. I'm not after the chaplain's job."
Benny gave him a mock glare. "And keep your ugly paws off Liz. You can't have all the women in the world."
At last Benny was beginning to act human, and thanks to his missionary work.
"Hell, that Julie's enough of a challenge," he said. "We had a good time over there today. She kept me laughing. She's tough, too. Tries hard to keep me in line."
"She's tackled an impossible task."
"She thinks I'm a pussy cat."
"Thought you were a breast man?"
He laughed lightly. Benny was loosening up. "What do you think of those knockers?"
"Cool it, Bear." Benny looked embarrassed.
"Gotta be size forties, and every inch is real." Benny stared over the Bear's shoulder, like he saw something there and shook his head as a signal to hush.
The Bear wasn't going to fall for it. "Julie's got enough bazooms for two women."
"Did I hear someone mention my name?" asked a tiffed voice from behind him.
The Bear, red-faced, scrambled to his feet, and helped with her chair.
Julie sat stiffly. "Sorry 'bout that," mumbled the Bear.
Her jaw was firmly set. "You should be."
The Bear glanced at Benny for support. None was forthcoming. Finally, the women began to chatter and things started to get back to normal. He wondered if they noticed the change in Benny, who was now looking on with quiet, casual interest.
After coffee the four walked together down the wide streets, trying to avoid money changers offering to sell Philippine pesos at black-market prices.
After a short while they split up. Julie couldn't resist seeing Chinatown for herself. Liz wanted to return to the hotel to try the pool. Benny agreed to join her. He seemed to be rising, Lazarus-like, out of the gloomies.
After they slid into the backseat of a taxicab, Julie asked the Bear about the subtle change in Benny. But the Bear was tired of worrying about Benny.
"Is Benny a good fighter pilot?"
The Bear couldn't help but respond. "He got a MiG just before being shot down, and he's supposed to be one of the best stick-and-rudder men around. If he tried to fly combat with the attitude he's got right now, though, he'd just get himself killed."
"He'll get it back."
He steered the talk back to them. "You seem to know about divorce. You been through it?" he asked. She looked too young, maybe twenty or twenty-one.
Julie spoke soberly. "No. I just listen to friends who've been there."
"I did it once. Went through a divorce I mean."
Julie refused to get off Benny's problems. "What's Benny's wife like?"
"I never met her, but from what he said she's being a real bitch about it all. I think we're getting close to Chinatown. See the storefronts, the Chinese words?"
"They're obviously just not right for each other. That's why I've been awfully selective. Finding someone who's worth getting serious over isn't that easy. How about you, Mal Bear Stewart? Are you selective?"
He felt uneas
y. "Sure I am."
She laughed, teasing him. "Liar. You've got some of the worse lines in the world. Do they really work?"
"We were talking about Benny, remember?"
She laughed again, like she knew she was making him nervous.
"We're about to head back to Takhli," he said, "and he won't have any time to get his shit together there. The fuckin' gomers aren't very selective about who they shoot down."
She drew back and looked at him. He'd caught her doing that several times that morning. "Stop cursing," she said quietly.
He regarded her with caution, recognizing the gleam of possessiveness.
"I like you," she said, "but I'd feel better if you'd stop cursing, Mal Bear Stewart."
He looked out at the buildings they were passing. "That's why you wouldn't make love with me last night?"
Now it was she who changed the subject. "I didn't like hearing you discuss my bra size, either. I'm sensitive about my breasts."
"Hell," he snorted appreciatively, "you should be proud of them."
"You like me?" she asked, suddenly coy.
"I told you I liked you."
She looked away. "That's good, because you turn me on."
"So answer the question. How come I ended up spending the night on the couch alone holding my busted nuts?"
"Talk like a gentleman."
"Is that why? 'Cause I didn't act gentlemanly enough."
She released a breath. "No."
"Then why?"
"You've heard about girls who don't go to bed on their first dates?"
"Oh."
"No, listen. I don't go to bed with a guy on fifteenth dates, either." She paused. "I'm what you might call . . . inexperienced."
He regarded her with mounting awe as it began to sink in.
"Sometimes I come on strong when I'm with the gang, joke about guys and talk like a hooker, but I don't take the mating game as lightly as some of my friends do. I'm twenty-two years old and I have never gone all the way with a man."
The Bear sat back. "You gotta be shitting me," he whispered.
"I am not." She grabbed him by the ears then, and shook his head.
"What'd I do?" he howled.
"You cursed again. I refuse to lose my virginity to a man who won't stop cursing when I ask him to."