"Gentlemen," he said. "It's good to be back at P'Cola. And I want to say that I know the only reason I am back is because of my instructor pilots when I went through here. As you can hear, I'm in no shape to talk much. But Lieutenant Pickering would, I am sure, be happy to say a few words and answer whatever questions you might have. I don't mind saying that he is the finest pilot I have seen, except for Captain Charles M. Galloway, our squadron commander. Would you come up here, please, Mr. Pickering?"
[ONE]
Corey Field
Escambia County, Florida
1025 Hours 2 November 1942
It turned out that First Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering, USMCR, was wrong about the tent to the side of the bleachers: It wasn't there to provide the Admiral with a convenient place to void his bladder. Instead, in keeping with the general theatricality of the whole affair, it was a dressing room for the actors involved in the melodrama being presented for the fledgling birdmen. When he went inside, he saw that it contained three chairs, a pipe-iron rack from which hung three flight suits, and a full-length mirror.
Two of the Suits, Flying, Winter, were brand new; each of these had a leather patch over the breast, on which was stamped in gold representations of Naval Aviator's wings. Above one of the wings, Pickering's name was sewn, while Dunn's name was sewn above the other. The other suit belonged to Lieutenant Colonel J. Danner Porter, USMC. It was not quite new, but it was spotless and holeless and shipshape.
They were accompanied into the tent by Captain J. J. O'Fallon, USMC. Captain O'Fallon, a heavyset redhead, was the squadron commander of VMF-289, which was based at the Memphis Naval Air Station, Millington, Tennessee. In exchange for flying four of his Wildcats (two of them suitably painted up for the occasion with meatballs and Pickering's and Dunn's names) from Memphis in the early-morning hours, Captain O'Fallon was going to be granted the great privilege of joining Colonel Porter in engaging the two aces in mock aerial combat.
Pick's first thought when he saw the brand-new flight suits was to wonder if there were any more around here, and if so, how he could steal them. His fellow pilots of VMF-221 had been almost pathetically grateful when he returned with the boxes of RAAF flight suits he stole at Port Moresby, New Guinea; theirs were literally in tatters.
But then he realized that VMF-221 was no longer operating out of Henderson Field, and that he was at NAS Pensacola, where there were more than adequate supplies of flight suits and everything else. And after that, he recalled that VMF-221 was no longer his squadron... and that for all practical purposes it no longer existed.
Colonel Porter already had the script for the aerial melodrama firmly set in his mind: First he and O'Fallon would fly off somewhere out of sight. And then they'd attack Corey Field (representing Henderson Field) in a strafing maneuver. Dunn and Pickering, on patrol, would defend Corey/Henderson.
Since it would be impossible to actually shoot down Colonel Porter and Captain O'Fallon, they would next climb to 5,000 feet and get in a dogfight. (Pickering realized that he and Dunn would be allowed to win. How would it look to the student pilots if two heroic aces lost?)
In order to make this bit of theater possible, the Wildcats had been equipped with "gun cameras." These were 16mm motion picture cameras mounted in the wings. When the gun trigger was pulled, the camera operated. Colonel Porter's intention was to have the gun camera film developed immediately so that it could be shown to everybody after lunch.
Between the time they finished playing war and started lunch, Lieutenants Pickering and Dunn would be debriefed on the platform by an intelligence officer. Captain Mustache Carstairs would play that role.
While they changed into the flight suits, the students were permitted to leave the bleachers and examine the Wildcats.
But when it came time for him to examine it up close, Pickering was nearly as impressed with his Wildcat as any of them. As he went through the preflight and then climbed into the cockpit, he could find nothing at all wrong with it. The aircraft was perfect in every respect: There wasn't a trace of dirt anywhere. The Plexiglas of the canopy and windscreen was clear and without cracks. Even the leather on the seat and headrest looked new. And, of course, everything worked the way it was designed to work; and there were no patched bullet holes on the skin of the wings or fuselage.
After a time, the student pilots were ordered away from the aircraft. Then sailors in pressed and starched blue work uniforms appeared with fire extinguishers. Porter and Captain O'Fallon started their engines, warmed them up, and moved to the threshold of the active runway. One after the other they took off and disappeared from sight in the direction of Alabama.
Ten minutes later, Bill Dunn looked over at Pickering and gave the wind-'em-up signal. Pickering followed him to the threshold of the active runway and stopped, to permit Dunn to take off first.
"Do you ever remember taking off one at a time?" Dunn's voice came metallically over the radio. "Come on."
Pick released the brakes and moved onto the runway beside him. Dunn looked over at him, smiled, and gave him a thumbs-up.
"Corey, Cactus rolling," Dunn told the tower, and shoved the throttle to TAKEOFF POWER. Pickering followed suit. They started down the runway together.
Something is wrong! Something's missing! Pick thought, and for a moment he felt fear.
Shit, goddamn it, you goddamn fool! This is a paved runway. Paved runways don't cause the goddamned gear to complain the way pierced steel planking and large rocks do.
Life came into the controls. Twenty feet apart, the two Wildcats lifted off the ground.
"Colonel," Dunn's voice came over the radio ten minutes later. "Sir, I'm sorry, I forgot your call sign."
"Cactus Leader," Colonel Porter replied, "this is Red Leader. Over."
"Red Leader," Dunn replied, "this is Cactus Leader. Colonel, I'm out of bullets. Or at least a red light comes on when I pull the trigger."
Pickering laughed and touched his mike button.
"Cactus Leader, this is Cactus Two. I'm out of bullets, too."
"Cactus Leader, Red Leader," Colonel Porter replied. "Break this off, and return to field."
"Roger, Red Leader."
"Cactus Leader, we will go first. Cactus Leader, there will be no, repeat no, unauthorized aerobatic maneuvers at any altitude in the vicinity of Corey Field. Acknowledge."