“No, nothing above us. Must’ve been an explosion.”
“Pilot to navigator, did you see what happened?”
“No, I didn’t see a thing until it was over.”
“Pilot to ball, what’s happening down there? How many planes were lost?”
“Air’s all full of pieces and parts of planes. I see three chutes.”
Adam thought, Five ships and only three chutes. He did some mathematics. Five times nine, forty-five men, and only three left alive.
Adam felt the bullets raking the Last Chance, seemingly from every angle. He felt a tug at his neck and knew that a bullet had touched his collar, but he paid no attention to it. When they finally reached the coast, they had been shot at by many Messerschmitts.
The battered group landed, and when Adam got out, Clint came over to say, “You did a good job, Sir. You’re a great flier.”
Adam looked at Clint. He suddenly had a desire for some warmth to break the moment and said briefly, “I can’t get over seeing those men, nearly forty-five of them, five crews, all dead.”
Clint dropped his head and studied the ground; then he looked up and his eyes met Adam’s. “It was a terrible thing, but I’m glad God brought us back.”
Adam considered this and shook his head. “I don’t think God had anything to do with it. It’s just like dice; sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.”
He turned and walked away. Clint stared after him, and then murmured, “Adam, you can’t live like that—not without faith in something. From the look I see in your eyes right now, you don’t have faith in anything!”
FALL FROM GRACE
The year of 1942 had been, perhaps, the most traumatic the United States of America had ever suffered. They had come into the war unprepared and had learned how to fight. At the Battle of Midway, in June, the navy had badly beaten the Japanese navy, the biggest naval victory of the war. In Europe, General Dwight D. Eisenhower assumed command of the United States forces. At Guadalcanal, a tough marine force held off the Japanese, and in early November Allied forces landed in North Africa, where the British routed Field Marshal Rommel’s Afrika Korps.
And on the home front, Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, the most renowned ace of World War I, had been lost at sea. He was, however, discovered with a few survivors, drifting in a raft after three weeks of surviving on army rations and one raw seagull.
America’s search for a war song had not been completed, and on November 5, the man that gave World War I a song, George M. Cohan, died. Cohan, born on the fourth of July, gave America the great song, “Over There,” to which the men in the ranks marched to war in 1918.
In the jungles of Guadalcanal, Will Stuart survived. The Japanese kept coming at them, battering at the lines every night and being thrown back, but every night Will knew that they would come again. Nighttime had become a terrible rhythm, like the breathing of a child frightened by sounds in the dark.
As dark closed in, Will crouched, holding his breath, looking around, peering through the darkness, waiting for the fanatical Japanese to come with their insane cries.
“You think they’re going to come at us again tonight, Sarge?” Private Willie Deason crouched beside Will in the foxhole. He was only seventeen years old, had run away from home, and lied about his age to join the marines. Now, Willie wished he were back at home in Kentucky. Will understood. And I wish I were home, too—so do all of us. Aloud he said, “They’ll come, and we’ll throw ’em back. You’ll be OK, Willie.”
All day long it had rained, and now Will and Willie, drenched and shivering, shaken by fever, looked out into the darkness, straining their eyes. Fever raged in most of the men, and Will knew that half of the squad would be in a hospital if they were home in the States. He counted the odds, knowing that though the division had thrown the Japs back time after time, the crisis was yet to come. He sensed in the atmosphere the hostile presence, the great Japanese task force moving down from the north, and knew that if they succeeded, the marines would all go down. Suddenly a vast crash of thunder rent the air, and at first Will thought it was more rain—then abruptly he realized this was not coming out of God’s heaven but was man-made thunder.
“Those are naval guns, Willie,” he said. “Come on!” They made their way through the jungle, groping, and saw out on the sea what looked like a fireworks display.
“It looks like a volcano,” Willie whispered. “Is them our ships?”
“They’re our ships, Willie!” Will said, and heaved a sigh of relief. “They’ve come!” he said. “Now we’re gonna see something!”
All night long the great battle raged. The sea was a sheet of polished obsidian on which the warships seemed to have been dropped and immobilized. The island trembled to the sounds of the mighty guns, pinpoints of light appeared, then grew and illuminated until the whole world was lit up, and the marines who watched in awe were bathed with a pale and yellow light. When morning came, Will knew for certain that the tide had turned on Guadalcanal.
“Look!” Will said, eyes turned to the sky. “Airplanes, and they’re ours!”
It was electrifying. The noise of the airplanes brought every marine out of his hole, cheering. Will drew a sigh of relief, for he felt as a doomed man from whose ankles great iron bands had been struck. A great weight lifted from his shoulders. “They’re runnin’, Willie,” he said. “We’ve got ’em whipped!” He took a breath of air, and though it was fetid and rotten with jungle rot, it was sweet, for he knew that Guadalcanal had been saved. The Japanese had been turned back, and things would be different for the marines from this point on.
The news of the lifting of the siege at Guadalcanal came as a breath of fresh air to the home front. Wendy had heard of it when she heard her father yelling downstairs. Thinking an accident had occurred, she pulled on a robe and ran down to find Owen Stuart in his bathrobe dancing around waving his steel hook in the air.
“What is it, Dad—what’s happened?”
Owen, with tears running down his face, reached out and grabbed Wendy and swung her in a wide circle, leaving her gasping. Putting her down, he said with a voice that was unsteady and filled with passion, “It’s over! Guadalcanal has been relieved!”
“Oh, Dad, what does it mean?”
“It means that we’ve taken the first step to winning the war, or maybe the second step. When the Japanese were whipped at Midway, that gave us a chance. Now, we’ll see some real victories!”
At that moment, Allie came in, her eyes wide. “What is it? What’s happening?” When they told her, she began to cry and said, “God be thanked! God be thanked!”
The three of them were too excited to eat, but finally Allie insisted and pulled them into the kitchen where they had bacon and eggs and toast.
As they were eating, Wendy said, “I got a letter from Mona yesterday. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.”
“What is it? What’s she doing now?” Owen said, chewing on a huge bite of toast, thickly layered with blackberry jam. “She’s a good-looking filly.”
“Don’t call your niece a filly!” Allie said sharply.
“Sorry, Allie.” Owen shrugged, but could not conceal a grin. “Well, she’s pretty enough to be Miss Oklahoma. I guess the next thing she’ll be doing is trying for Miss America.”
“I think she will, Dad,” Wendy said, “but something else has come up. She’s got an opportunity to go on a USO tour to the Pacific.”
Interest quickened in Owen’s face. He leaned forward and studied Wendy carefully. “Is that right? You know that might not be a bad thing. She might even get to do her dancing before Will out there. Although I doubt if Guadalcanal’s got a theater.”
“She’s going, all right—that is, if I go with her.”
Both Owen and Allie looked surprised. “Go with her?” Allie said with some confusion. “Why, I thought only professional entertainers went on those tours.”
“That’s pretty much the case, but Mona says that she can get me a place with
the group.” She leaned forward, put her hand on her chin, and said quietly, “I don’t think Uncle Pete will let her go unless I go with her. She didn’t actually say that, but she said I’d be getting a call from him at any time. I’m pretty sure he’ll want me to go look after her.”
“Well, I will have to say that young woman needs some looking after,” Owen said. “She’s a good girl at heart, but she thinks about nothing but fun and boys and parties and dances.”
Allie was studying her daughter carefully. “Would you want to go, Wendy?”
When the offer had come, Wendy had not been sure. She had thought it over carefully and had prayed about it much of the previous night. She slowly nodded. “You know, I think I really would. I haven’t been able to do anything much for the war effort. Working in a library isn’t going to win the war.” She laughed briefly and said, “Of course, singing light opera for the men won’t win it either—but if I could help in this way, I think I would.”
“Well, do it then!” Owen said explosively. He banged the table with his steel hook, then said, “It’ll be an experience you’ll never forget, and those guys over there, they really need all the encouragement we can give them.”
Wendy was pensive, somewhat uncertain, but with her father’s encouragement, she grew more and more positive. Later that day she called Mona and said, “All right, Mona, I’m going.”
“Look out South Pacific, here we come! The best singer and the best dancer in the whole U.S. of A.!” Mona was excited and at once began making plans.
When Wendy finally hung up, she looked at herself in the mirror that hung on the wall and said wryly, “Well, I bet I’ll be a star in the jungles. Not much competition there.”
Carol looked at Harry Bledsoe with some surprise. He had called her into his private office and talked excitedly about a new adventure that he was about to launch into. By this time, Carol knew Bledsoe well enough to understand that anything new excited him. She smiled understandingly, listening until he finally said, “I’ve got to go to Chicago to get this thing off the ground, Carol, and I can’t do all of it alone. You’ll have to go with me.”
Carol stared at Bledsoe blankly, thinking for a moment that she had misunderstood him. “Why, I couldn’t do that, Harry!”
“But you’ve got to, Carol! I just can’t handle it all alone. I’ll be out talking to prospective clients, and I’ve got to have someone to do all the book work while I’m gone during the day.” Bledsoe was wearing a new brown suit and had just gotten back from the barber shop. His cheeks gleamed with the fresh shave, and his brown eyes were excited. He had been sitting on his desk looking down at Carol. Now, suddenly he came over and took her hands and lifted her up. “I know it’s not exactly according to the rules of order, but this is a war we’re in, Carol. We’ve got to get these parts made. If we don’t keep ’em rolling, the guys over there won’t have a chance.”
It was a statement that Bledsoe made often, and Carol knew there was a certain truth in it. The parts business had grown under government contracts, and now many of the Jeeps that were rolling off the assembly lines were fitted with the parts that came from the Bledsoe factory. Still, she was confused and said with a worried tone, “But it wouldn’t look right, us going off together on a trip.”
“Why, it happens all the time. It’s just business, Carol.”
“I know, Harry, but think what it would look like.”
Bledsoe shook his head saying persuasively, “It’ll only be for three days. You’ll have your own room. We’ll be on a public plane, and we’ll be in meetings together part of the time. There’s nothing wrong with it.” He shrugged, saying, “I know I may have been a little fresh with you at times. You’re so pretty, no man can help that, but this time I really need you. At least think about it, will you, Carol?”
“All right,” Carol said reluctantly, “I’ll think about it, but I don’t see how it could be.”
That had been on Thursday. Two days later Carol knew that she had to give Harry an answer. Somehow she dreaded staying alone in the little town that had been her life, and now with her father dead and with Clint so far away, the only activity in her life was her work. She dreaded sitting alone, night after night, listening to the radio, reading books. Life had closed in on her, and her nerves were frayed.
She was sitting in the office trying to make up her mind when the phone rang, and she picked it up. “Bledsoe Industries,” she said. “May I help you?”
“Carol?”
“Yes, this is Carol; who’s this?”
“It’s Wendy, Carol. I’m just getting ready for a trip, and I wanted to see how you were before I left.”
Carol was pleased, for Wendy had kept in close touch with her, especially since Clint had left. She knew that her cousin genuinely cared, and a moment of envy came to her as she said after they had talked for a while, “What kind of a trip are you making? Where are you going?”
“It’s so exciting, Carol! Mona and I are going on a USO tour. We’ll be going to the South Pacific to entertain the soldiers and the marines and the sailors there.”
Carol listened with a pang as Wendy spoke with enthusiasm of the tour. Finally, she said, “I wish I could sing or dance. All I do is keep books for this parts company.”
“Are you getting out some, Carol?” Wendy asked with concern. She was well aware of the loneliness of the young woman and wished that they lived closer.
“No, there’s nothing at all in this little town. I’ve seen every movie and read every book in the library, I think. I spend a lot of time writing letters to Clint, but there’s really nothing to say to him.”
The two women talked for a while, and finally Carol said almost in desperation, “I do have a chance to make a trip myself, Wendy.”
“Where? What kind of a trip?”
“Mr. Bledsoe, the owner of the company, is opening up a new branch in Chicago. He wants me to go with him and help with the correspondence and the business things there.”
There was a moment’s silence on the other end, and immediately Carol understood that Wendy disapproved. “It would just be a business trip, Wendy,” she said quickly. “It happens all the time. Men have to take their secretaries with them.” She was very defensive and grew almost angry at herself and changed the subject at once. “I hope you have a wonderful time on your trip.”
Wendy was disturbed, and after she hung up the phone, she sat in the chair wondering if there was anything she could do. That’s a mistake, going off with her employer. No matter what the circumstances, she doesn’t need to do it. Slowly she rose and, for the rest of the day, from time to time would offer up a prayer for Carol. She knew that Carol Stuart was playing with dynamite to even consider such a thing.
Clint pulled the wrinkled envelope out of the pocket of his flight suit, and extracted the letter. He glanced out the window at the clouds floating by but did not really expect to see fighter planes. They were headed for a city deep in the heart of Germany, and he knew that soon enough the air would be filled with enemy fighters. At the briefing that morning, Cisco Marischal had asked him, “How do you think the operations officer feels when he reads out our names, the ones of us who are going, and he knows some of us won’t make it back?”
“Someone has to do it, Cisco.”
Cisco thought it over and said, “Which would you rather do, take the risk yourself or have to choose which men may die?”
Clint had answered instantly, “I’d rather go myself. I think I’d feel responsible for those who didn’t get back.”
As the B-17 kept close formation, Clint read through the letter again. Something about it troubled him, although he could not say what. Most of it was just the usual news—what movies Carol had seen lately, reports of a visit to his father and mother. Much of it was filled with news of her job. The paragraph that troubled him was:
It’s been so boring here. I know that sounds awful to say, but it’s because you’re not here that I’m bored, Clint. One thing has com
e up that will maybe be a break in the routine. The company is opening up a new operation in Chicago. It’s going to be a very big operation, Mr. Bledsoe says, and he wants me to help set it up. I’m not sure I can handle it, but at least it will be a challenge.
Clint read the rest of the letter, then folded it up and put it back in his pocket.
“Chicago,” he muttered. “How could she help set up an operation in Chicago while she’s living in the Ozarks?” The thought troubled him, partly because he still had some sort of a foolish guilt complex. He knew that he could not be with her, but from the tone of her letters he knew that the death of her father had prostrated her. She had leaned on her father greatly all of her life, and now he was gone. “And I’m gone, too,” Clint whispered as he got up and started to check the airplane. “I wish I could be with her.”
He made his check, and soon he heard over the intercom, “This is the pilot; enemy coast in five minutes!”
Later he heard Adam Stuart’s voice again, saying, “Pilot to crew, keep alert!”
Clint waited, then said, “Engineer to crew, oxygen check!”
“Tail OK!”
“Ball, rajah!”
“Radio, oxygen OK!”
“Turret OK!”
“Cockpit OK!”
Suddenly the voice of Smith, the copilot, broke in, “Fighters coming in—eleven o’clock low!”
Boom! The airplane rocked, throwing Clint off balance. His head struck the bulkhead, and he was thankful for the helmet.
Pulling himself up, he heard the voice of Beans Cunningham, “I’m wounded!”
“I’ll see to it!” Clint said, and made his way to the ball turret. When he looked inside he said, “You OK, Beans?”
Winds of Change Page 18
