He went below. Down in the stateroom the Real McCoy was poring over a copy of the Wall Street Journal. “Are you rich enough to retire yet?”
“I’m making an honest dollar, Grafton. Working hard at it and taking big risks. We call the system capitalism.”
“Yeah. So how’s capitalism treating you?”
“Think I’m up another grand as of the date of this paper, four days ago. I’ll get something current as soon as I can get off base.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Arabs turned off the oil tap in the Mideast. That will send my domestic oil stocks soaring and melt the profits off my airline stocks. Some up, some down. You know, the crazy thing about investing — there’s really no such thing as bad news. Whether an event is good or bad depends on where you’ve got your money.”
Jake eyed his roommate without affection. This worm’s eye view of life irritated him. The worms had placed bets on the little fish. Somehow that struck him as inevitable, though it didn’t say much for the worms. Or the little fish.
“You going ashore?” McCoy asked.
“Like a shot out of a gun, the instant the gangway stops moving,” Jake Grafton replied. “I have got to get off this tub for a while.”
“Liberty hounds don’t go very high in this man’s Navy,” McCoy reminded him, in a tone that Jake thought sounded a wee bit prissy.
“I really don’t care if Haldane uses my fitness report for toilet paper,” was Jake Grafton’s edged retort. And he didn’t care. Not one iota.
“Hello.”
“Hello, Mrs. McKenzie? This is Jake Grafton. Is Callie there?”
“No, she isn’t, Jake. Where are you?”
“Hawaii.”
“She’s at school right now. She should be back around six this evening. Is there a number where she can reach you?”
“No. I’ll call her. Please tell her I called.”
“I’ll do that, Jake.”
The pilot hung up the phone and put the rest of the quarters from his roll back into his trouser pocket. When he stepped out of the telephone booth, the next sailor in line took his place.
He trudged away looking neither right nor left, ignoring the sporadic salutes tossed his way. The palm trees and frangipani in bloom didn’t interest him. The tropical breeze caressing his face didn’t distract him. When a jet climbing away from Hickam thundered over, however, the pilot stopped and looked up. He watched the jet until the plane was out of sight and the sound had faded, then walked on.
About a ship’s length from the carrier pier was a small square of grass complete with picnic table adjacent to the water. After brushing away pigeon droppings, Jake Grafton seated himself on the table and eased his fore-and-aft cap farther back onto his head. The view was across the harbor at the USS Arizona memorial, which he knew was constructed above the sunken battleship’s superstructure. Arizona lay on the mud under that calm sheet of water, her hull blasted, holed, burned and twisted by Japanese bombs and torpedoes. Occasionally boats ferrying tourists to and from the memorial made wakes that disturbed the surface of the water. After the boats’ passage, the disturbance would quickly dissipate. Just the faintest hint of a swell spoiled the mirror smoothness of that placid sheet, protected as it was from the sea’s turbulence by the length and narrowness of the channel. The perfect water reflected sky and drifting cumulus clouds and, arranged around the edge of the harbor, the long gray warships that lay at the piers.
Jake Grafton smoked cigarettes while he sat looking. Time passed slowly and his mind wandered. Occasionally he glanced at his watch. When almost two hours had passed, he walked back toward the telephone booths at the head of the carrier pier and got back into line.
“Hey, Callie, it’s me, Jake.”
“Well, hello, sailor! It’s great to hear your voice.”
“Pretty nice hearing yours too, lady. So you’re back in school?”
“Uh-huh. Graduate courses. I’m getting so educated I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“I like smart women.”
“I’ll see if I can find one for you. So you’re in Pearl Harbor?”
“Yep. Hawaii. Got in a while ago. Gonna be here a couple days, then maybe Japan or the Philippines or the IO.” Realizing that she probably wouldn’t recognize the acronym, he added belatedly, “That’s the Indian Ocean. I don’t know. Admirals somewhere figure it out and I go wherever the ship goes. But enough about me. Talk some so I can listen to your voice.”
“I got your letter about the in-flight engagement. That sounded scary. And dangerous.”
“It was exciting all right, but we lost a plane yesterday on a day cat shot. An A-6. Went in off the cat. The pilot was killed.”
“I’m sorry, Jake.”
“I’m getting real tired of this, Callie. I’ve been here too long. I’m a civilian at heart and I think it’s time I pulled the plug. I’ve submitted a letter of resignation.”
“Oh,” she said. After a pause, she added, “When are you getting out?”
“Won’t be until the cruise is over.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Yeah.”
He twisted the telephone cord and wondered what to say. She wasn’t saying anything on her end, so he plunged ahead. “The plane that went in off the cat was the one I had the inflight engagement in, ol’ Five One One. The in-flight smacked the avionics around pretty good, and when they reinstalled the boxes one of the technicians didn’t get the VDI properly secured. So the VDI box came out on the cat shot, jammed the stick. The BN punched and told us what happened, but the pilot didn’t get out.”
“You’re not blaming yourself, are you?”
“No.” He said that too quickly. “Well, to tell the truth, I am a little bit responsible. With better technique I might have avoided the in-flight. That’s spilled milk. Maybe it was unavoidable. But I was briefing these Marines on carrier ops— everything you need to know to be a carrier pilot in four two-hour sessions, and I forgot to mention that you have to check the security of the VDI.”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“Not really. But aren’t these risks a part of carrier aviation?”
“Not a part. This is the main course, the heart of it, the very essence. In spite of the very best of intentions, mistakes will be made, things will break. War or no war, people get killed doing this stuff. I’m getting sick of watching people bet their lives and losing, that’s all.”
“Are you worried about your own safety?”
“No more than usual. You have to fret it some or you won’t be long on this side of hell.”
“It seems to me that the dangers would become hard to live with—”
“I can handle it. I think. No one’s shooting at me. But see, that’s the crazy part. The war is over, yet as long as men keep flying off these ships there are going to be casualties.”
“So what will you do when you get out?”
“I don’t know, Callie.”
Seconds passed before she spoke. “Life isn’t easy, Jake.”
“That isn’t exactly news. I’ve done a year or two of hard living my own self.”
“I thought you liked the challenge.”
“Are you trying to tell me you want me to stay in?”
“No.” Her voice solidified. “I am not suggesting that you do anything. I’m not even hinting. Stay in, get out, whatever, that’s your choice and yours alone. You must live your own life.”
“Damn, woman! I’m trying.”