beautiful, the whole area was quiet. What the hell
could the problem be this time?
He tried to think of plausible explanations.
Another plane shot down, perhaps. Or bad weather at the base. But he
couldn't prevent the unspeakable thought from materializing in his
brain.
Dear God, had he been abandoned?
In the briefing room of the Air Force command
post, Colonel Walker faced the flying crews seated before him. The
men were in sweat-stained flying clothes. Fatigue showed in their
faces. Walker's voice was low.
"Okay, gentlemen, that's the briefing. Just
one more thing. I know you've been flying your butts off ever since
the invasion started. We've set some kind of record for planes downed
during this past week, and you've done a hell of a job. But remember,
especially you Jolly Greens, the place is crawling with unfriendlies.
Throwing up everything from ack-ack to sake bottles. So watch
yourselves. Any questions?"
There were none.
"OK. As briefed, Captain Clark will execute
his brainstorm plan and give you the word if it's safe enough to go
in. Good luck, gentlemen." The crews gathered their gear and
started filing out the door. "Oh, Capitain Clark."
The Birddog pilot turned to face the colonel.
"Sir?"
"I want to talk to you."
"Roger."
After all the crew members had filed out of the
briefing room, Walker stuck his face close to Clark's. "When was
the last time you had a good night's sleep?"
"Sir, I told you. I'm getting my rest."
"Like hell you are. I'm going to let you take
this one mission. Hopefully it will be the last. Then I'm confining
you to quarters for twelve hours."
"But, sir, I'm on leave. It's not Air Force
policy for a commander to dictate what a—"
"It is not Air Force policy for a smart-assed
captain to lip off to a superior officer."
"No, sir."
Walker studied the tired pilot. "Do you know
Hambleton?"
"We've talked, sir."
"I mean personally?"
"Never met him, sir."
"Interesting. Would you mind telling me why
you want to stay on this mission? You've received your PCS orders!
Why are you volunteering? You know as well as I do that someone else
can take over."
Clark shrugged. "Everybody seems to be trying
to make it into a big thing, Colonel. Like I was some kinda nut. I'm
not. I don't know, maybe it's because I spend a lot of time behind
the enemy lines and know what it's like out there. Maybe it's because
I've been in on several rescue missions, know the ropes, and get a
kick when we pull someone out. Don't ask me to explain. All I know is
there's a fifty-three—year—old man down there and he's hanging in
like a tiger. And maybe I just sort of put myself in his shoes and
hope someone would do the same for me. Hell, I don't know. I just
want to stay on and see it through. Ain't no big thing."
Walker grunted. "Clark, I don't know whether
to put you in for an Air Medal or a psychiatric discharge. Maybe you
deserve both. While I think it over, get your butt out of here."
"Yes, sir." Clark started for the door.
Walker called after him. "On this mission. Be
careful, Denny."
The revving of the Birddog's engines brought
Hambleton scrambling up out of his hole. He flipped on his radio.
"How goes it, Bat Twenty-one?"
"One of those dog days, Birddog. Quiet."
"We're gonna liven it up a little. I'm
dropping a CARE package."
Hambleton looked in disbelief at his radio. A CARE
package! What the hell for? He was supposed to be getting out of
there. "You did say a CARE package?"
"Rog. Sustain your spirits 'til Jolly Greens
get in. Stand by. Birddog out."
For Christ's sake! What the hell was going on?
This must mean another delay. What the bloody—oh, hell, at least a
CARE package would have food in it. Some of it palatable. And water.
And cigarettes. And fresh radio batteries...
He heard the buzzing of the little FAC plane. It
came in low and slow, flying directly toward his position. As it
neared, he could see the plane's door open, then a canister came
tumbling out. Its chute barely opened
could the problem be this time?
He tried to think of plausible explanations.
Another plane shot down, perhaps. Or bad weather at the base. But he
couldn't prevent the unspeakable thought from materializing in his
brain.
Dear God, had he been abandoned?
In the briefing room of the Air Force command
post, Colonel Walker faced the flying crews seated before him. The
men were in sweat-stained flying clothes. Fatigue showed in their
faces. Walker's voice was low.
"Okay, gentlemen, that's the briefing. Just
one more thing. I know you've been flying your butts off ever since
the invasion started. We've set some kind of record for planes downed
during this past week, and you've done a hell of a job. But remember,
especially you Jolly Greens, the place is crawling with unfriendlies.
Throwing up everything from ack-ack to sake bottles. So watch
yourselves. Any questions?"
There were none.
"OK. As briefed, Captain Clark will execute
his brainstorm plan and give you the word if it's safe enough to go
in. Good luck, gentlemen." The crews gathered their gear and
started filing out the door. "Oh, Capitain Clark."
The Birddog pilot turned to face the colonel.
"Sir?"
"I want to talk to you."
"Roger."
After all the crew members had filed out of the
briefing room, Walker stuck his face close to Clark's. "When was
the last time you had a good night's sleep?"
"Sir, I told you. I'm getting my rest."
"Like hell you are. I'm going to let you take
this one mission. Hopefully it will be the last. Then I'm confining
you to quarters for twelve hours."
"But, sir, I'm on leave. It's not Air Force
policy for a commander to dictate what a—"
"It is not Air Force policy for a smart-assed
captain to lip off to a superior officer."
"No, sir."
Walker studied the tired pilot. "Do you know
Hambleton?"
"We've talked, sir."
"I mean personally?"
"Never met him, sir."
"Interesting. Would you mind telling me why
you want to stay on this mission? You've received your PCS orders!
Why are you volunteering? You know as well as I do that someone else
can take over."
Clark shrugged. "Everybody seems to be trying
to make it into a big thing, Colonel. Like I was some kinda nut. I'm
not. I don't know, maybe it's because I spend a lot of time behind
the enemy lines and know what it's like out there. Maybe it's because
I've been in on several rescue missions, know the ropes, and get a
kick when we pull someone out. Don't ask me to explain. All I know is
there's a fifty-three—year—old man down there and he's hanging in
like a tiger. And maybe I just sort of put myself in his shoes and
hope someone would do the same for me. Hell, I don't know. I just
want to stay on and see it through. Ain't no big thing."
Walker grunted. "Clark, I don't know whether
to put you in for an Air Medal or a psychiatric discharge. Maybe you
deserve both. While I think it over, get your butt out of here."
"Yes, sir." Clark started for the door.
Walker called after him. "On this mission. Be
careful, Denny."
The revving of the Birddog's engines brought
Hambleton scrambling up out of his hole. He flipped on his radio.
"How goes it, Bat Twenty-one?"
"One of those dog days, Birddog. Quiet."
"We're gonna liven it up a little. I'm
dropping a CARE package."
Hambleton looked in disbelief at his radio. A CARE
package! What the hell for? He was supposed to be getting out of
there. "You did say a CARE package?"
"Rog. Sustain your spirits 'til Jolly Greens
get in. Stand by. Birddog out."
For Christ's sake! What the hell was going on?
This must mean another delay. What the bloody—oh, hell, at least a
CARE package would have food in it. Some of it palatable. And water.
And cigarettes. And fresh radio batteries...
He heard the buzzing of the little FAC plane. It
came in low and slow, flying directly toward his position. As it
neared, he could see the plane's door open, then a canister came
tumbling out. Its chute barely opened
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