The second plane released its bombs as Bob watched. Everything seemed to freeze in place for a moment that never ended, and then the plane, the bombs, the fireballs blowing away the jungle below all merged into one big mass of flame and the plane disappeared.
«Pull up, pull up!» Bob heard somebody screaming in his earphones. He had already yanked the control column back toward his crotch. Planes were scattering across the sky, jettisoning their bomb loads helter-skelter. Bob glanced at his left hand and was shocked to see that the bomb release switches next to it had already been tripped.
The valley itself was seething with explosions. The ammo dump was blowing itself to hell and anybody who was down there was going along for the ride. Including the flight leader’s wingman. Who the hell was flying wing for him today? Bob wondered briefly.
«Form up on me,» the voice in his earphones commanded. «Come on, dammit, stop gawking and form up.»
Bob craned his neck to find where the other planes were. He saw two, three … another one pulling gees to catch up with them.
He banked and started climbing to rejoin the group, his own gee suit squeezing his guts and legs, his breath gasping. Hard work, pulling gees. And he felt a stray tendril of thought, like the wispy memory of a tune that he could not fully recall.
«Bill?» he asked aloud.
Then something exploded and he was slammed against the side of the cockpit, helmet bashing against the plastic canopy, pain flaming through his legs and groin.
The shock of contact was a double hammer blow. Bill’s body went rigid with sudden pain.
Bobby! What happened? But he knew, immediately and fully, just as if he sat in the A-7’s cockpit.
Flak, Bobby gasped. I’m hit.
Jesus Christ, the pain!
I’m bleeding bad, Billy. Both legs …
Can you work the controls?
It took an enormous effort to move his arms. Tabs and ailerons okay. Elevators. Another surge of agony, dizziness. Can’t use my legs. Rudder pedals no go.
Radio’s shot to hell, too.
They’re leaving me behind, Bill. They’re getting out of here and leaving me.
That’s what they’re supposed to do! We’ve got to gain altitude, Bob. Get away from their guns.
Yeah. We’re climbing. Engine’s running rough, though.
Never mind that. Grab altitude. Point her home.
Can’t make the rudder work. Can’t turn.
Use trim tabs. Go easy. She’ll steer okay. Like that time we broke the boom on the Sailfish. We’ll get back okay.
You see anything else out there? MiGs?
No, you’re clear. Just concentrate on getting this bird out over the sea. You don’t want to eject where they’ll capture you.
Don’t want to eject, period. Or ditch. Not in the shape I’m in.
We’ll get back to the carrier, don’t worry.
I won’t be able to land it, Billy. I don’t think I can last that long anyway.
We’ll do it together. I’ll help you.
You can’t …
Who says I can’t?
Yeah, but …
We’ll do it together.
I don’t think I’ll make it. I’m …
Don’t fade out on me! Bobby, stay awake! Here, let me get that dammed oxygen mask off you; we’re low enough to suck real air.
Bill, you shouldn’t try this. I don’t want us both to get killed.
I’ve got to, kid. Nothing else matters.
But …
Bobby, listen to me. I ought to be there with you. For real. I should’ve been on the line with you instead of playing around out here in space. I took the easy way out. The coward’s way out. They gave me a chance to play astronaut and I took it. I jumped at it!
Who wouldn’t?
You didn’t. I owe you my life, Bobby. You’re doing the fighting while I’m playing it safe a quarter million miles away from the real thing.
You’re crazy! You think blasting off into outer space on top of some glorified skyrocket and riding to the fucking Moon in a tin can is safe?
There’s no Indians up here shooting at us, kid.
I’ll take the Indians.
Bobby, I’m not kidding. I feel so goddamned ashamed. I’ve always grabbed the best piece of the pie away from you. All our lives. I ran out on you …
I always got the piece I wanted, big brother. You did what you had to do. And it’s important work. I know that. We all know that. I’m doing what I want to do.
You’re putting your life on the line.
So are you.
I shouldn’t have run out on you. I should have helped you fight this war.
There’s enough of us fighting this lousy war. Too many. It’s all a wagonload of shit, Bill. Talk about feeling ashamed. Making war on goddamned farmers and blowing villages to hell isn’t my idea of glory.
But how else …
You do what you have to do, brother. Doesn’t make any difference why. You get locked into the job by the powers that be.
The gold braid.
The gods.
Whatever.
We’re locked in, Billy. Both of us. All of us. It’s all a test, just like Father Gilhooley always told us. We do what we have to, because if we do less than that, we let down the guys with us. Nobody flies alone, brother. We’ve got each other’s lives in our hands.
You believe that?
I know it.
Bob?
Yeah.
I know I’ve treated you like shit ever since we were kids …
You did? When?
I’m sorry. I should’ve done better.
I should’ve been better, Bill. Sometimes I raised hell just to see what you’d do about it.
I love you, brother.
I know. It goes both ways, Bill.
Don’t die, Bobby. Please don’t die.
I don’t want to …
The pain was flowing over them both in overpowering waves now, like massive breakers at the beach. They could sense a new surge growing and gliding toward them and then engulfing them, drenching them until they finally broke out of it only to see a new wave heading their way.
I’m not going to make it, Bill.
Yes you are. We can make it.
I don’t think so. I’m sorry, big brother. I’m trying, but …
You can do it! We can do it—together.
Together. It’s not so bad that way, is it? I mean, when you’re not alone.
Nobody’s ever alone, kid. Even out here neither one of is alone. Not ever.
The plane was out over the water now, the dark green ridges behind them, nothing but restless deep blue billows below, reaching for them. Not another plane in sight. We’re losing altitude.
Yeah.
I don’t know how long … Look! The carrier, Bob!
Where? Yeah. Looks damned small from up here.
You’re almost home. I’ll handle the rudder, you work the stick.
Yeah, okay. Maybe we can make it. Maybe …
No maybe about it! We’re going to put this junk heap down right in front of the admiral’s nose.
Sure.
Gear down?
Think so. Indicator light’s shot away.
The hell with it.
LSO’s waving us in.
They’ve cleared the deck for us.
Nice of them.
Easy now, easy on the throttle. Don’t stall her!
Stop the backseat driving.
Deck’s coming up too damned fast, Bobby!
Don’t worry … I can … make it. Always was … a better flier … than you.
I know. I know! Just take her easy now.
Got it.
Head knocker?
Yeah. Don’t want to eject by accident, do we.
Hang in there, kid.
Here it comes!
You did it! We’re down!
We did it, brother. We did it together.
The deck team rushed to the battered plane. Firefighters doused the hot engine area and wings with foam. Plane handlers climbed up to the cockpit and slid the canopy back to find the pilot crumpled unconscious, his flight suit soaked with blood from the waist down. The medics lifted Bob Carlton from the cockpit tenderly and had whole blood flowing into his arm even while they wheeled him toward the sick bay.