"OK," Galloway said.
"But I'd have to give him a little present."
"What's he want?"
"An auxiliary generator," Oblensky said. "They're living in tents. He's got a refrigerator someplace, but he needs juice to run it."
"Jesus, Steve, we only have two."
"I think I know where I can get another one."
"Where?"
"You don't want to know, Captain."
"And if you get caught?"
"Then I guess you'd still have some fucked up Brownings, Captain."
"Then be careful," Galloway said.
Big Steve nodded.
Galloway glanced at Ward and Schneider. He saw fascination in Ward's eyes and disbelief in Schneider's, as both came to comprehend what had just been discussed.
"Gentlemen," Galloway said, "I'd like you to meet Technical Sergeant Oblensky, the squadron maintenance sergeant. Sergeant, this is Lieutenant Ward and Lieutenant Schneider; they've just reported aboard."
Big Steve extended his hammy, greasy hand to Ward and Schneider in turn. Ward shook the hand with visible pleasure; Schneider managed a smile only with an almost visible effort.
"Welcome aboard, Sirs," Big Steve said. "The Skipper's told me about you. We didn't expect you so soon."
"I told them you'd paint their names on their airplanes, so we could take a picture," Galloway said.
"Consider it done. Tomorrow, for sure," Big Steve said. He smiled, turned, and pointed at the Wildcat behind him. "This one's ready for a test hop, and if they can replace one more jug in that fucked-up engine in Six-Oh-Three, that'll be ready this afternoon, too." (A "jug" is the engine's cylinder and piston assembly.)
"Is that what you want me to do, Steve, test-fly this one?"
"Lieutenant Dunn took Lieutenant Peterson out again. He said if you got hung up, he'd test-fly this one when he got back."
"What I'd like, Steve, is for six-oh-three to be ready for a test hop when I bring this one back," Galloway said.
"You want to trust Neely to replace the jug himself? I mean, I got to see about that other auxiliary generator."
"We have to push him out of the nest sometime, Steve."
"OK. I'll tell him to have it ready when you get back," Oblensky said. "Things are probably going to be a little tight. You want to change your plans for tonight, Captain?"
Shit! I forgot all about that!
Mrs. Stefan Oblensky, aka Lieutenant Commander Florence Kocharski, United States Navy Nurse Corps, had requested the pleasure of the company of Captain Charles M. Galloway, USMCR, at dinner at the family residence where she and Technical Sergeant Oblensky cohabited with the blessings of God but in contravention of the Rules and Customs of the United States Naval Service.
Charley looked at Big Steve's face.
I can 't turn him down again. They've asked me four times, and I've had to turn him down three.
"Hell, no," he said. "I'll be there."
Chapter Twelve
(One)
HEADQUARTERS, MAG-21
EWA USMC AIR STATION
OAHU, TERRITORY OF HAWAII
1445 HOURS 7 JULY 1942
Lieutenant David F. Schneider reached out and touched Lieutenant Jim Ward's arm as Ward tried to operate the door latch of Galloway's 1933 Ford convertible. Ward turned and looked at him.
"Don't you really think it would be a good idea if we took a shave and got into a fresh uniform before we go in here?"
"You heard what the man said. The man said the colonel is smart enough to know you lose the crease in your trousers when you spend twelve hours in an airplane. And the man, if I have to point this out, is now our commanding officer."
"But he hasn't changed much," Schneider said, "has he?"
"Meaning what?"
"You did understand that he gave that bare-chested gorilla of a sergeant of his permission to steal an auxiliary power unit generator someplace, from somebody who certainly needs it?"
Ward didn't reply.
"So that he can swap it to some other sergeant in the 2nd Raiders," Schneider went on, "for doing something to the machine guns that he's not competent, or too stupid, to do himself? The last I heard they call that 'misappropriation of government property.'"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jim Ward said.
"You were standing right there!" Schneider said indignantly, and then understood. "Oh," he said in disgust. "I see."
"I don't think you really do, Dave," Ward said. "Let me tell you something about yourself, Dave. Most of the time you're a pretty good guy; but hiding inside you-I guess all the time-is a real prick struggling to get out. I don't like you much when that happens."
Schneider looked at Ward for a time, and then he said slowly, "Your attitude wouldn't have anything to do with the relationship between Galloway and your Aunt Caroline, would it?"
"Probably that has something to do with it," Ward said. "But what I think it is, what I hope it is, is loyalty to my commanding officer."
Schneider snorted.
"You weren't sent here," Ward said. "You volunteered, so you could get out of flying R4Ds and into fighters. Galloway fixed it. If it wasn't for him, you'd still be at Quantico. You knew what Charley-Captain Galloway- was like when he let you volunteer. All you had to say was no."
"I can't believe that you are actually condoning what you saw him do with your own eyes."
Ward turned away and managed to get the door open. Then he walked quickly around the front of the car and intercepted Schneider as he was getting out.
"I never thought I would enjoy something like this," he said, "but I was wrong. You will recall, Lieutenant, that I am senior to you. By the authority therefore vested in me by the goddamned Naval Service, Lieutenant, I order you (a) to get back in the car; (b) to shut your fucking mouth; (c) and to sit there and don't move until I send for you. And be advised, Lieutenant, that if it comes down to it, I will swear on a stack of Bibles that when Sergeant Oblensky spoke with us, he was dressed like a fucking recruiting poster and said not one fucking word about a goddamned generator. You got that, Lieutenant?" "Jim," Schneider said. "Obviously, I..." "Your orders, Lieutenant, are to sit there with your fucking mouth shut," Ward said, spun on his heel, and walked to the door.
(Two)
THRESHOLD, RUNWAY 17
EWA MARINE CORPS AIR STATION
OAHU, TERRITORY OF HAWAII
1450 HOURS 7 JULY 1942
Captain Charles M. Galloway, USMCR, had a dark secret, a true secret, shared with no one else. He wasn't sure if it was a character flaw, or whether it was something that happened to other people, too. But he knew that he didn't want it known, and that he could never ask anyone else if they were similarly affected. Or maybe similarly afflicted.
The cold truth was that in situations like this one-in the cockpit, with all the needles in the green, in the last few instants before he would shove the throttle forward and then touch his mike button and announce to the tower, with studied savoir faire, "Five Niner Niner rolling"-he was afraid.