W.E.B. Griffin - The Corps IV - Battleground

Following Parks's lead, he put the Wildcat into a dive, correcting without thinking about it for the Wildcat's tendency to drop the right wing and turn the nose to the right.

As he approached his first target, Bill could clearly see the aft-facing gunner bringing his machine gun to bear on him.

That bastard is shooting at me!

That triggered two other-alarming-thoughts:

Christ, I didn't test my guns!

I forgot to pull my fucking goggles down!

The Wildcat shook with the recoil of the.50 caliber Browning machine guns in the wings. And two other thoughts came:

Jesus, my tracer stream is way out in front of him!

I'll be goddamned! He blew up! How the hell did that happen?

And then he was through the layer of Kates and approaching the layer of Vals beneath them.

I fucked that up! I didn't get a shot at any of them, and here come the fucking Zeroes!

Our Father, who art in heaven-

I don't think I can turn this sonofabitch enough to lead him-

I'm skidding all over the fucking sky! You 're a real hot pilot, Mr. Dunn. In a pig's ass you are!

OK shit, there goes one of our guys. His right fucking wing just came off!

For yea, tho' I walk through the valley of the shadow of death-

That's right, you miserable cocksucker, just stay right there another five seconds, four, three-

Gotcha!

Holy shit, there's somebody on my tail! A fucking Zero, what else?

I can't get away from him.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed-

Chop the fucking throttle, stupid! Put it in a skid, let him overshoot you!

Oh, my God, the windshield's gone. I can't see a fucking thing. I'm going to die. Where the fuck are those goggles? Where the hell is that Zero? Why does my leg feel wet? Did I piss my pants?

Not unless you're pissing blood, you didn't.

I thought it was supposed to hurt when you got wounded.

Oh, shit, it hurts! I wonder if it's broken?

(Three)

"How do you feel, Dunn?" the tour guide from the Atlanta Zoo asked, pulling up a folding metal chair to the side of Dunn's bed. "Well enough to talk to me?"

What if I said "no"?

"Yes, Sir."

"The more you can tell me about what happened out there, the better," the tour guide said. "You want to take it from the beginning?"

"We were at fourteen thousand, about thirty miles out, when Major Parks spotted them. He showed us where they were and went into a dive, and I went after him."

"And?"

"And that's all I remember."

"Come on."

"I remember being surprised that the Zeroes were on the bottom of the formation, not the top."

"OK. That was unusual. They apparently intended to use the Zeroes to strafe the field here. I guess they didn't think we had anything to send up against them. When you went in the dive, then what happened?"

"I shot at a Kate."

"You got it. It was confirmed."

"The Kates were on top. Then there was a layer of Vals. I went right through them without firing a shot. And then I was in the Zeroes."

"And?"

"I don't know. I don't remember much."

"You are credited with shooting down one of them. You don't remember that?"

"Who says I shot down a Zero?"

"I don't immediately recall."

"The Skipper?"

"Major Parks didn't make it back, I'm sorry to say."

"Shit."

"I was hoping that perhaps you might have seen him go in."

"I saw somebody go down. His right wing, most of his right wing, came off. I don't know who it was."

"When was that?"

"I don't know. Toward the beginning."

"That was the only time you saw one of ours go down?" "Yes"

"You're sure?"

"I told you, that was it. How many of ours went down?"

"A good many, I'm sorry to have to tell you."

"How many is a good many?"

"We lost fifteen. Two Wildcats-not counting yours, although yours has been surveyed and is a total loss-and thirteen Buffaloes."

"We only had nineteen Buffaloes with us."

"In addition to yourself, Captain Carey, Captain Carl, and Lieutenant Canfield came back. Of Major Parks's flight, I mean."

"You mean the rest are dead?"

"Do you remember when you were hit?"

"You mean everybody but the four of us is dead?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Oh, my God!"

"Do you remember being hit?"

"No. I remember the windshield going."

"In other words you don't know who shot you down, whether it was a Zero or some other type aircraft?"

"It had to be a Zero. I was in the Zeroes."

"But you don't know for sure?"

"I don't even know how I got back here."

"You came back and made a wheels-up landing."

"I found my way back here by myself?"

"How else?" the Naval Intelligence debriefing officer asked, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.

"The last thing I remember is when I lost my windshield. And got hit."

"You don't remember heading back here?"

"The last thing I remember is trying to pull my goggles down after the windshield went."

"You were apparently flying with the canopy open-"

Christ, I forgot to close the canopy, too?

"Was I?"

"The shell, most likely a 20mm, apparently entered the cockpit from the side-"

"Just one round?"

"There were others. In the engine nacelle. Another just forward of the seat. But the one-the one which entered the cockpit-apparently exploded going through the windshield, from the inside out?"

"Yeah," Bill said, understanding.

"What they took out of your face and leg, legs, was debris from the windshield and control panel. Perspex and aluminum fragments."

"Then it was a Zero."

"Presumably." The Intelligence officer looked directly at him. "You have no memory of breaking off the engagement and heading back here?"

"No."

"Could you determine, do you have any memory of determining, from your instruments, or from a loss of control, that your aircraft was no longer airworthy?"

"No," Bill said, and then, thinking aloud, "That's an odd question."

"You were seen leaving the area."

"So?"

"The officer who saw you leave could not tell whether you had lost your windshield. You were too far apart."

"Who was that?"

"I don't think we'd better get into that."

"But he thought I was running, right?"

"Were you?"

"I don't know."

"That's not a very good answer, you realize?"

"Sorry about that."

"You don't seem overly disturbed at what could be an accusation of cowardice in the face of the enemy."

"Fuck you, Lieutenant."

"You can't talk to me that way!"

"If I'm to be charged with cowardice in the face of the enemy, what's the difference what I say to you?"

After a long pause, the Naval Intelligence Officer said, "I didn't say anything about you being charged with anything."

"No witnesses, right? Everybody's dead?"

"If you're through with my patient, Lieutenant," another voice said, from behind Dunn, "I'd like to put him aboard the PBY."

"You're being flown to Pearl Harbor," the Intelligence Officer said to Dunn.

"I'd prefer to stay with the squadron," Bill said.

"You won't be flying for a while. Three weeks anyway," the voice behind him said.

"And there's no squadron to stay with," the Naval Intelligence Officer said.

"Moving is going to be painful," the voice behind him, now much closer, said. "I can give you some morphine, if you like."

"How painful?"

"You're pretty well stitched up, particularly on the legs. Any movement will be painful."

"Then you'd better give me the shot," Bill Dunn said.

Chapter Two

(One)

MENZIES HOTEL

MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA

1040 HOURS 8 JUNE 1942

When the knock came at his door, Captain Fleming Pickering, USNR, was relaxing with his jacket off and his tie pulled down, tilting back in a chair, his feet on the windowsill of his seventh-floor suite, and balancing a cup of coffee on his stomach. Even that way he looked tall and distinguished; and it would have taken a moment of indecision before you concluded he was a man in his early forties. At first glance he appeared younger than that.

Читать дальше