Pell was not apparently disturbed. Instead, he seemed almost relieved to hear it. The open concern fell away, and on his face appeared the old, sly confidence.
“You weren’t even there,” he said. “How do you know what happened? You were in bed. You’re always off somewhere when there’s a fight, in Tokyo or someplace.”
“Am I?”
It was as if some capsule had been squeezed open within him and the contents shot into his blood like venom. He stepped unthinkingly forward, unbalanced, but quickly, his hands feeling weightless as he moved. His swing did not hit Pell squarely, but glanced off the side of the neck. A surge of bodies closed in upon them immediately, crowding them so that he could not move his arms, one of which was caught shoulder high. There was shouting and confusion as he was forced back clumsily.
“What in hell is going on here?”
It was Colonel Imil, pushing brusquely through the group. He glanced around and then turned on Cleve.
“All right. What is it? What’s the trouble?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?” He looked toward Pell. “Haven’t you had enough fighting for one day?”
Pell smiled.
“You got two more, I hear,” the colonel said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who was lost?”
“Daughters.”
“How did it happen?”
“He just got hit,” Pell began. “I did everything I could…”
“Colonel,” Cleve said, his breath making him pause, “I’d like to talk to you alone for a minute.”
“What about?”
“I’d rather tell you alone.”
“What’s bothering you, Cleve? Say it out in the open. What are you afraid of?”
The color came to Cleve’s face. He could feel his mouth hardening despite himself. The hands of the crowd had released him, and he stood by himself, conscious of the surrounding faces now withdrawn slightly to a respectful distance, but silent and absorbing. He abandoned the search for proper words.
“I want Pell grounded,” he said.
The silence, which had been noticeable, became paramount when the colonel did not immediately reply. It was the silence of the arena.
“What in hell are you talking about?”
“Ground him,” Cleve repeated. “I want to see that he doesn’t fly any more.”
“A man with five victories, and you want me to ground him? What’s wrong with you? He ought to be a flight commander.”
“Why not give him the group, Colonel?”
“That’s enough, Connell.”
“He killed his leader today. If he’d shot him down personally, it wouldn’t have been any different. It was his fault that Daughters was killed.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Pell insisted. “He wouldn’t break.”
“You’re a liar. You never told him to.”
The colonel suddenly jerked his head up and looked around at the rows of open faces. He wheeled toward them.
“All right,” he shouted, scattering them with motions of his hands, “go on about your business, all of you. Clear out of here.”
They began to filter away. He stood watching until they were gone. Then he turned to DeLeo and Pell.
“Get to debriefing. They’re waiting for your report.”
“I have a right to hear what he says,” Pell announced.
“Don’t worry about that,” the colonel ordered. “Just get going.”
Pell saluted, and then, belatedly, DeLeo. When they were some distance off, and only he, Cleve, and Moncavage were left standing by the wing of Pell’s ship, the colonel whirled to confront Cleve with unexpected ferocity.
“What are you trying to do, Connell? Wreck the group?”
“No, sir. I’m trying to uphold it.”
“With crazy accusations in front of every son of a bitch and his brother?”
“I was told to speak in front of them,” Cleve said flatly.
“First of all,” the colonel continued with a rush, not listening, “you weren’t even on the mission—why, I don’t know. I only know that there’s nothing unusual about it. You never seem to be on the missions that get into fights. That’s the first thing. Secondly, for some reason, you and that Italian, whatever his name is, have got it in for Pell, but if it weren’t for him, and nobody else, your flight would be on its ass. Nobody else in it is doing a thing except him. I hate to lose a pilot and a plane, probably more than anybody else around here, but I don’t jump to conclusions. I’ll find out what went on; and if I think there was anything that requires action on my part, I’ll take it. I don’t have to be told by some captain how to run my wing or who to ground.”
“How long have you known me, Colonel?”
“I don’t care if I’ve known you for fifty years.”
“Just listen to me for a minute.”
“No! That’s what you can’t seem to understand. You listen to me. I don’t listen to you.”
“On whatever reputation…” Cleve began.
“At ease! Are you too stupid to understand that?”
Cleve did not reply. He was looking at a stranger, complete and hostile. Whatever the mutual past had given them was suddenly gone. It was a sickening feeling to realize that, like having the very ground taken from beneath his feet. He did not remember later whether anything more had been said, but only that he had been left standing alone beside Pell’s airplane, the fury slowly subsiding and leaving him stranded more and more on the outcropping of complete loneliness and desolation. He did not know what to do. He could not even think clearly about it. In the middle of the ramp he was left by himself. He would have given anything to be gone, years away. It would be a long time, though, before he was finished here and could begin putting it behind him. He had days ahead that seemed like mountain ranges.
Pell faced the colonels in the debriefing room. He was earnest and attentive. He looked directly at them when he answered their questions. It didn’t take long. After about ten minutes he was finished explaining, and they all left to drive up to the club. It was closed at that hour, but Moncavage located the club officer and borrowed the keys.
They walked in together. It was empty and cool, like a kitchen at midnight. They sat down at the bar. Moncavage found the right key for the liquor cabinet and withdrew a bottle.
“There’re some glasses right in back of you,” Imil said. Moncavage placed three out. Imil picked the cork from the bottle and poured them about one quarter full.
“You probably need this,” he said to Pell, “and it won’t hurt me.”
Moncavage was trying to find some water to mix with his drink.
“A big day. Here’s to you, Doctor,” Imil said, lifting his glass. He and Pell drank, swallowing hurriedly.
“Phew,” Imil breathed. He set his teeth against each other. “Still a little early in the morning.”
Pell laughed and wiped his mouth.
“I must be getting old,” Imil said. “How about you, Monk?” Moncavage was just taking a sip from his glass.
“It isn’t orange juice,” he said.
“Drink it.”
They sat around, drinking slowly. The sun came through the windows, making squares of brilliance on the rough wood flooring. Other than that, the room was dim. The walls were indistinct in shadow. Pell could feel the liquor moving through him. He hadn’t eaten any breakfast. Imil took the bottle and poured him another one, taking a little himself.
“Two MIGs in one mission,” he said. “That’s something.”
“I got a couple on one mission, myself,” Moncavage said.
“You did, didn’t you?” Imil agreed. “Well, you ought to form a club.”
Pell grinned.
“That’s the way to do it, though,” Imil went on. “Christ, it’s all most of us can manage just to get one. You boys that deal in pairs. I don’t know.”