Part 38 (1/2)
He pointed to the ”graveyard” where remnants of more than two dozen crashed and shot-up B-17s were scattered around.
”Without any whistling-in-the-dark self-confidence,” Kennedy went on, ”what are our chances of getting that 17 back?”
”That will depend on how much you can teach Doug,” Fine said.
A Follow Me jeep had driven out to the taxiway to meet the P-38. Fine started to walk toward the revetment in which it would be parked, and Bitter and Kennedy followed him.
”I think I'll go along in the 17,” Bitter said. ”Maybe I could help Joe.”
”No,” Fine said, politely enough, but there was no mistaking it was an order. ”We want to keep you around to fly the other new one.”
They reached the revetment as the P-38 taxied up to it.
A ground crewman made a throat-cutting signal with his hand, and the engines died. A ground crewman laid a ladder against the c.o.c.kpit, and Lt. Colonel Peter Dougla.s.s, Jr., climbed down it.
He was wearing a pink Ike jacket, matching trousers, a battered, oil-spotted, fur-felt brimmed cap with the crown stiffener removed on the back of his head, half Wellington boots, and a parachute-silk scarf in the open collar of a gabardine s.h.i.+rt.
He is absolutely, totally, out of uniform, Fine mused. And then he corrected himself. Fine mused. And then he corrected himself. No, that is the uniform prescribed by fighter pilots for themselves. And there is no question that Doug is one h.e.l.l of a fighter pilot. There were j.a.panese meatb.a.l.l.s and German swastikas painted in three neat rows on the c.o.c.kpit nose, plus a submarine. No, that is the uniform prescribed by fighter pilots for themselves. And there is no question that Doug is one h.e.l.l of a fighter pilot. There were j.a.panese meatb.a.l.l.s and German swastikas painted in three neat rows on the c.o.c.kpit nose, plus a submarine.
And something brand new. Dougla.s.s had named his airplane ”Charity.”
”Where the h.e.l.l is my bra.s.s band?” Dougla.s.s asked, wrapping his arm around Commander Bitter's shoulders and (because he knew it annoyed Bitter immensely) kissing him wetly on the temple.
Fine and Kennedy smiled.
”Who's Charity?” Kennedy asked.
”As in 'Faith, Hope and,' ” Dougla.s.s said. ”if I don't get a band, how about lunch? I'm starved.”
”You're going flying with Lieutenant Kennedy,” Fine said. ”You can have lunch when you come back.”
”Where am I going flying with you, Kennedy?” Dougla.s.s asked.
”Up and down, up and down,” Kennedy smiled. ”Fine wants me to teach you to line an airplane up with the runway while you're still in the air.”
”Only bomber pilots have to do that,” Dougla.s.s said. ”It's because their reflexes are so slow. You're serious about this, aren't you? Before Before I have lunch?” I have lunch?”
”If you're a good boy, I'll have a surprise for you when you get back,” Fine said.
”I already talked to her,” Dougla.s.s said, ”which raises the question of Rank Hath Its Privileges.”
”How?” Fine asked.
”A senior officer such as myself,” Dougla.s.s said, ”cannot be expected to share a room with low-grade underlings such as you guys. Do I make my point?”
”Oh, I think Commander Bitter will be happy to accommodate you, Colonel, Sir,” Kennedy said, chuckling. ”He already has had the troops spiffing up the transient female quarters. You'll notice the smile of antic.i.p.ation on his face.”
”Doug,” Bitter said very seriously, changing the subject, ”if you really want something to eat, I'll have some sandwiches prepared and get them to the aircraft.”
”Shame on you, Lieutenant Kennedy,” Dougla.s.s said, ”you are embarra.s.sing the commander.”
For a moment, looking at Bitter, Fine was afraid the situation was going to get out of hand, but with a visible effort, Bitter finally managed a smile.
Dougla.s.s looked at his watch.
”The girls are due here at two-fifteen,” he said. ”That gives you just about two hours to teach me all you know, Kennedy. That shouldn't be a problem.”
Dougla.s.s and Kennedy flew for nearly two hours before landing a final time and taxiing the B-17F back to the 402nd Composite Squadron area. As they stood by the aircraft with the crew chief, giving him a list of things to check to prepare the plane for flight, a small convoy rolled past the B-17 graveyard and stopped before the Quonset hut.
The convoy consisted of an Austin Princess limousine, a Packard limousine, and a three-quarter-ton Dodge weapons-carrier. The Packard and the Austin Princess were driven by sergeants of the WRAC, and the canvas-bodied Dodge by a U.S. Army sergeant.
Lt. Colonel Ed Stevens and Lt. Charity Hoche got out of the Princess, and five men in olive-drab U.S. Army uniforms got out of the Packard.
”Let that be a lesson to you, Lieutenant Kennedy,” Dougla.s.s said, ” 'Virtue is its own reward.' If you had allowed me to land this aerial barge when I wanted to, I wouldn't have had to stand around panting until just now.”
”One gathers that the Colonel would be panting over the blond lieutenant?” Kennedy asked. ”Who the h.e.l.l is she, anyway?”
”A senior officer such as myself,” Dougla.s.s said, ”does not of course discuss either ladies or his personal affairs with a junior officer. But I will say this, Kennedy. If it were to come to my attention that anyone-say, a lowly reserve swabby officer-paid any but official attention to a certain WAC officer while I am off saving the world for democracy, I would feed him his b.a.l.l.s.”
”That's Charity,” Kennedy said.
”That's Charity,” Dougla.s.s confirmed possessively.
”I hate to tell you this, Colonel,” Kennedy said. ”But the lady doesn't seem p.r.o.ne to throw herself in your arms.”
”That's because she doesn't want to make you feel jealous, ” Dougla.s.s said.
They smiled at each other.
”Thanks for the lessons,” Dougla.s.s said. ”How did a fair-to-middling airplane driver like you wind up flying aerial barges?”
”Just lucky, I guess,” Kennedy said. ”And just for the h.e.l.l of it, Colonel, if that were a check ride, you would have pa.s.sed it.”
They smiled at each other again.
”Let's go see if we can make Bitter blush again,” Dougla.s.s said.
4.
BUDAPEST, HUNGARY 0350 HOURS 19 FEBRUARY 1943.
Canidy didn't see the policeman with his hand held up until he was almost on him.
He had been too busy watching the road in front of him. It had been a long time since he had ridden a bicycle, and while it was true, he had found out, that once you learned how, you never forgot, it was also true that pedaling a bicycle required muscles he hadn't used in a long time. Even moving as slowly as they had been riding, his calves and upper thighs were heavy with exhaustion.
And the road was covered with frozen slush, which caught the wheel of the bicycle when it rode in one of the ruts. He had taken four spills, and one of them was a bad one, throwing him heavily on his right shoulder and bruising his right knee.