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

On his eighth landing at the Midland City Army Air Corps field—again a greaser—Weston touched down within ten yards of the end of the runway. When the speed of the landing roll had decreased enough to put the tail wheel on the ground—the end of the «touch»—meaning, he could either slow further and turn off the runway or apply throttle and take off again—«go»—he looked at Major Williamson for orders.

«Ascend again into the heavens, Mr. Weston,» Major Williamson ordered, «and set course for Asshole, West By God Virginia.»

«Asshole, West Virginia, aye, aye, sir,» Weston replied.

With a skilled hand he advanced both throttles. The Gooney Bird accelerated and the tail came off the ground. A few seconds later, the R4-D was airborne again.

«Wheels up,» Weston ordered. «Dump the flaps.»

And then he remembered he was a student pilot.

«Wheels up, please, sir,» he said. «Reduce flap angle to zero, please, sir.»

Williamson didn't reply until the green wheels up and locked light came on, and the arrow on the flaps control was pointing to zero.

«Wheels up, flaps dumped,» he said.

«Midland, Navy Six Niner Niner,» Weston said to the microphone, as he simultaneously set up his rate of climb and turned the Gooney Bird onto a course that would take them just to the east of Atlanta.

«Six Niner Niner.»

«Thank you for the use of your facility, Midland. We are now going to try —desperately— to find first Fort Benning and then Atlanta. Would you be so kind as to ask them to keep an eye out for us? ETA Benning thirty-five minutes, ETA Atlanta unknown. I can't count that high on available fingers.»

«You're welcome, Navy. We will advise Benning to keep an eye out for you.»

«Thank you again, Midland, and a very good day to you.»

Major Williamson was not surprised to note how skillfully Weston trimmed up the Gooney Bird. Weston was obviously a skilled and experienced pilot.

Birds of a feather, et cetera.

Twenty minutes later, making 170 knots at 7,000 feet over Eufala, Alabama, Major Williamson spoke again. «She's really a nice girl, Weston,» he said.

«Sir?»

«Oh, come on, Jim. I saw you two say goodbye.»

«Oh.»

«She's a really nice girl,» Williamson repeated.

«Yes, sir, she is.»

«And a stunning female!»

Weston looked over at him.

«When you get married, you don't take a solemn vow not to look,» Williamson said.

«Stunning is an understatement,» Weston said.

«In fact, if she wasn't an admiral's daughter and a Marine Aviator's widow, one might go so far as to say she's built like a brick shithouse,» Williamson said.

«Oddly enough,» Weston said, with a clear mental picture of Martha standing naked in the cabin of her father's sailboat, «a somewhat similar thought passed through my head.»

«I probably shouldn't tell you this, Jim—you're not undersupplied with ego— but you're the first guy she's shown any serious interest in as long as I've known her.»

«Is that so?»

«Pensacola is a buyer's market for a girl like Martha. One hell of a lot of eligible young officers have taken their best shots at her. And gotten Maggie's Drawers.» When a marksman—and every Marine is trained to be a rifleman— completely misses his target on a known-distance range, a red flag, «Maggie's Drawers,» is waved in front of the target. «You're the first one to even come close to getting the brass ring.»

«With all respect, sir, is your real name John Alden?»

«Not the last time I looked.»

«You sound as if you're trying to match me up with the lady.»

«It seems to me that Mother Nature has already done that,» Williamson said. «I'm just letting you know Mother Nature rarely makes a mistake.»

Weston didn't reply.

'"Lieutenants should not marry; captains may marry; majors should. You ever hear that, Jim? Or am I putting my nose in where it doesn't belong?»

«As a matter of fact…«

«Don't be impertinent, Captain. You are a very young captain; I am a senior major. It therefore behooves me to counsel you on a matter of importance to your career.»

«With all due respect, Major, sir, go fuck yourself.»

«I was a lieutenant when Margie and I got married,» Williamson said. «I didn't want to get married either. October '41. I was on orders to VMF-219. I thought, Christ, we're going to war. The last thing I wanted to do to Margie was make her a widow. But I couldn't tell her no.»

Weston looked at him.

«We had a seven-day honeymoon,» Williamson went on. «Then I reported to 'Diego, went aboard the

Lexington

—change of orders—and wound up on Midway. I was lucky there. I was determined to go home to Margie. I got six Japs, and that got me railroad tracks, and then I went to VMF-229 on Henderson Field on the 'Canal. Charley Galloway was the skipper. Colonel Dawkins—you know this—was the MAG commander, and he asked Charley which of his pilots should get a squadron, and Charley said me. And I got lucky there, too. I was determined to go home to Margie. And I did, with major's leaves on my collar. I went home to Margie and our brand new son. Marrying her was the best and smartest thing I have ever done.»

«You think you're going to be as lucky the next time?» Weston asked.

«Who knows? On one hand, the statistics suggest that if you live through the first thirty days, you have a good chance of finishing the tour. On the other hand, everybody dies sooner or later. But in the meantime, Jim, I've had Margie and the boy. That's what it's all about.»

«Yeah, I guess.»

«End of speech,» Williamson said. «Except to say, when you're on the merry-go-round and a brass ring like Martha's is within reach, grab it.»

Weston shrugged.

Then he pointed ahead, out the window. A flight of perhaps twenty Army Air Corps C-47s—essentially identical to the Navy R4-D they were flying—was 2,000 feet below them, making a wide turn toward Fort Benning.

«What they're going to do,» Williamson explained, «is go down to about thirty-five hundred feet and drop their parachutists. There's drop zones all over this area.»

«I don't think I'd want to do that,» Weston said. «Jump out of an airplane.»

«You ever see a drop?»

«No, sir.»

«Why don't you drop down to about forty-five hundred feet, and stay behind that formation and watch? It's something you should see.»

Weston reached the trim tab to lower the R4-D's nose, then reached for the throttle quadrant to retard power.

With a little bit of luck

, he thought,

the «why don't you marry Martha» speech is really over

.

The thing is, he's absolutely right. If it wasn't for one small problem

—

Janice, who I also really love

—I

would marry Martha in a minute

.

note 57

Espiritu Santo Island

New Hebrides, Southern Pacific Ocean

1505 22 March 1943

Chief Boatswain's Mate William Haber, USN, a lithe, muscular, natty thirty-nine-year-old with twenty-two years of Naval service, happened to be standing before the skipper's desk when the telephone rang.

Lieutenant Commander J. K. Sloane, Civil Engineer Corps, USNR, commanding officer of the 3rd Naval Construction Battalion, pointed at the telephone, indicating that Chief Haber should take the call, rather than the clerk in the outer office.

«Third CBs. Chief Haber speaking, sir.»

«This is Lieutenant Stevens, Chief, Admiral Henton's aide.»

Rear Admiral Jerome J. Henton, USN, commanded U.S. Navy Base (Forward) Espiritu Santo.

«How may I help the Lieutenant, sir?» Chief Haber said, very courteously. He almost came to attention.