Griffin W.E.B. - The Corps 08 - In Dangers Path

«Affirmative, 303.»

«You want to sit it down, Charley?» the pilot asked of the copilot.

«Thank you very much,» the copilot said.

With an exaggerated gesture, the pilot took his hands from the wheel.

«You've got it,» he said.

The copilot retarded the throttles and began a shallow descent.

«TWA 303, Philadelphia,» the radio went off again.

«Three-oh-three, go ahead.»

«Three-oh-three, be advised you will be met by a Navy ambulance and a medical team. You are requested to off-load the Navy patient before, repeat, before, you off-load your passengers.»

«Oh, shit!» Captain James B. Weston, USMCR, said, shaking his head. He was riding on the jump seat between and just behind the pilot and copilot.

The pilot looked at Jim Weston curiously, then reached for the microphone again. «Philadelphia, TWA 303. We will off-load the Navy patient first,» he said. Then he turned and looked at Weston again. «Do you know what's that about?»

«I'll bet that ambulance is for me,» he said.

«Something wrong with you?» the pilot asked with concern.

«Not a goddamn thing, but I am having trouble convincing the goddamn Navy about that,» Weston said, adding, «It's a long story.»

The pilot did not press for an explanation. He had earned his own wings as a Naval Aviator at Pensacola, and had tried to get back in the Navy after Pearl Harbor. They told him he was (a) too old and (b) there was a shortage of airline pilots because all the younger ones were going back into the service. Logic told him the Navy had been right, but he still felt a little guilty to be flying an airliner between St. Louis and Philadelphia instead of a Navy plane in the Pacific.

Especially when he saw a kid like this one, who didn't look old enough to be a captain, and wearing not only wings but ribbons representing the Silver Star, Purple Heart, and Pacific service.

For that reason, he had asked him if he would like to fly up front when he saw him get aboard. For the same reason, if the kid didn't want to talk about why the Navy had sent an ambulance to meet him, he wasn't going to embarrass him by asking.

«You ever fly one of these?» the pilot asked, indicating the DC-3.

«Some,» Weston said. «I'm rated—I

was

rated—in it, but most of my multi-engine time is in Catalinas.»

«You fly Catalinas?»

«Past tense,» Weston said. «I'm a fighter pilot.»

«I'm jealous,» the pilot confessed.

«The Corsair is one hell of an airplane,» Weston said.

The pilot looked at the window and picked up his microphone.

«Philadelphia, TWA 303 turning on final.»

«Three-oh-three, take taxiway twenty-seven right. The Navy ambulance will meet you at gate eleven.»

«Understand twenty-seven right, gate eleven,» the pilot said, and then turned his attention to see how well his copilot was going to handle the landing.

The ambulance was a civilian vehicle, a Packard painted white with us navy lettered on its doors, rather than the GI ambulance that he was used to, which was built on the frame of a Dodge three-quarter-ton truck, the sides and roof decorated with large red crosses. The medical crew consisted of two Corpsmen, in hospital whites, and a very well-assembled nurse in a crisp white uniform. She wore a stiffly starched white cap, perched precariously, and very attractively, atop her short blond hair. Her face was very serious. She looked to be in her very early twenties.

Because I am a Marine officer and a gentleman by act of Congress, with certain standards to maintain, I would not kick that out of bed.

The Corpsmen were equipped for any eventuality. They had a wheelchair, and also a chrome stretcher on wheels that sat on the ground beside the open rear door of the ambulance. As soon as the pilot had shut down the left engine, a curt ncd from the nurse directed the Corpsmen toward the airplane. She walked in front of them.

The pilot turned to Weston, putting out his hand.

«Good luck,» he said.

«Thank you,» Jim replied, «and thanks for letting me ride up front.»

«My pleasure,» the pilot said.

«Mine, too,» the copilot chimed in and offered his hand.

Weston rose from the jump seat and fastened it in the up position, then left the cockpit and started down the aisle. When he turned after taking his small canvas bag from the rack over his seat, he saw that the nurse was already in the plane.

She looked at him curiously as he walked down the aisle.

«And good afternoon to you, Lieutenant,» Jim said with a smile.

«Are you my patient?» she,asked, as if surprised that he could make it down the aisle by himself.

«I don't think so,» he said.

«I'm looking for a Marine captain named Weston,» she said.

«Then this is your lucky day,» Jim said. «And perhaps mine, too. Captain James B. Weston at your service, ma'am. I didn't catch the name?»

«If you'll come with me, please, Captain,» she said.

«That's a funny name for a pretty girl,» he said.

She colored, gave him a dirty look, then turned around and got off the airplane. He went down the stairs quickly after her.

The fatter of the two Corpsmen pushed the wheelchair toward him.

«Is someone ill?» Weston asked innocently.

«Please get in the chair, Captain,» the nurse said.

«Thank you ever so much, Lieutenant, but I don't need a wheelchair.»

«It's procedure,» she said. «Please get in the chair.»

«Something wrong with your hearing, Lieutenant? Is that ambulance our transportation?»

«If you'll please get in the back, Captain.»

He walked to the rear of the ambulance and looked inside.

«There're no seats in there,» he said reasonably. «Where am I supposed to sit? On the floor?»

«You're supposed to lie down on the stretcher,» she said.

«Again, thank you but no thank you,» he said. «I'll just ride in front, if that would be all right.»

«I would appreciate it if you wouldn't give me any trouble,» she said.

«Captain,» the fatter Corpsman said, «Sir, you've got to ride in the back.»

«Butt out!» Weston said coldly, tossed his small bag in the back of the ambulance, and then walked to the front and got in.

The nurse and the corpsmen had a discussion, following which the fatter Corpsman got behind the wheel and the nurse slipped in beside Weston.

«Perhaps there's been some sort of mix-up,» the nurse said. «The officer we were supposed to meet was just rescued from the Philippines.»

«Oddly enough, I was in the Philippines until a couple of months ago,» Weston said. «Until Christmas Eve, as a matter of fact.»

«You were hospitalized… in the Pacific… until now?»

«I haven't been hospitalized at all,» he said. «Do I look like I need hospitalization? In your professional judgment, I mean?»

«Let's go, Nevin,» she ordered.

«Yes, ma'am,» the chubby Corpsman started the engine.

«I suppose this really isn't any of my business, Lieutenant, but is there anyone in your life, in a romantic sense, at the moment? What I'm leading up to is wondering if you're free for dinner?»

«You're going to be in a hospital bed when I have my dinner,» she said. «But thank you just the same.»

«Well, we could have dinner there, I suppose,» Weston said reasonably. «I really hate to eat alone.»

«You understand that I'm going to have to report your conduct?» she said.

«I wouldn't have it any other way,» he said.

«Please sit in the wheelchair,» she said when they had pulled up to the Admissions entrance to one of the buildings in the hospital complex on South Broad Street.

«I thought we already had this discussion,» he said.

«You have to!»

«Where do I report in, Lieutenant?»