There was no opportunity for Clint to speak with Adam the next day, and the day after that they flew a mission. The men had brought back liquor from London and had pretty well anesthetized themselves the night before. It nearly brought on one of the greatest casualties of the Last Chance.
Clint was working over his gun in the upper turret when he felt someone pulling at his foot. Looking down, he saw an officer who said, “Sergeant, we’ve got an inspection today on the Sight you’re carrying. How long will you be here?”
“Oh, about thirty minutes, Sir.”
“Good, I’ll have the Sight back by that time.”
“Well, that’s Sergeant Wilson there; he’s in charge of the Sight.” The word Sight was shorthand for the Norden Bombsight, the most closely guarded secret in the American air force. Never were these precious instruments allowed to get into any position that might give them away to the Germans.
Clint went back to work. He saw the technician leave the aircraft carrying the bombsight and paid no heed to it. Soon, a scream reached him, and he looked down to see Moon scrambling through the plane. “Clint! Where’s the bombsight?”
Clint whirled around and followed Moon who was staring in utter disbelief at the gaping empty space in the nose where the Sight should have been.
At that point, Adam came in and said, “What’s wrong here?” He looked down, and then blinked with shock. “Where’s the bombsight?”
“I don’t know, Lieutenant!”
Adam turned to Moon, his face stiffened with anger. “Sergeant Wilson, where is the bombsight?” This was a stark tragedy, and for some time the meeting was conducted with shouts on Adam’s part, who was losing it completely. “You’ve just succeeded,” he screamed, “in losing the air force’s top-secret device! You’ll go to prison for this, Wilson!”
“Just a minute, Sir,” Clint said. He had turned around, and said, “I think one of the inspection officers took it.”
This did not satisfy Adam. He beat on his head, his lips pulled back in a snarl. “Why couldn’t I get nine sane men like the other pilots do!”
“I-I only looked away for a few seconds!” Moon said.
Just then Asa Peabody, who had come up to witness the fiasco, said, “Hey, isn’t that somebody carrying a bombsight?”
Instantly they all rushed to the door and fell out. “That’s him! That’s him, catch him! Don’t let him get away!”
Everybody in the crew, including Adam, took off, with Moon leading the way determined to redeem himself. He was cursing, and if he had had a gun, Clint knew he would have shot it.
The technician was swarmed and the bombsight was ripped from his hands. He stared in utter incomprehension saying, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Clint said quickly. “We just got a little confused about the bombsight.”
“The lieutenant told me to get it so it could be inspected.”
“I know; it’s not your fault,” Clint said. “Moon, go along with him, and be sure that the bombsight gets back in place.”
Adam was not going to let the bombardier get off so easily, however. He jerked him around, held his lapels, calling him incompetent, idiot, and other names, although he never actually used profanity. Moon’s face grew pale, but he stood silent until Adam finally whirled and walked away.
“He didn’t have to act like that,” Moon whispered. Anger blazed in his eyes, and he shook off Clint, who tried to explain the situation.
It all would have been comical except for the fact that Adam had driven one more wedge between himself and the crew. As they took off on their mission for Romilly, Adam was aware that not a soul on the airplane said one word to him that was not actually required. His lips tightened and he thought, Let them be soreheads; they’re nothing but a bunch of clumsy cows anyway. Viciously he swung the plane around, throwing the crew helplessly toward the bulkhead and taking satisfaction in it. The new copilot, a short, chunky lieutenant named Larry Felson, stared at him but said nothing. He had heard about the hard-tailed lieutenant of the Last Chance and was determined to keep in good standing with him as long as possible.
The next week was the worst for the entire Wing. Missions went out in fully operational groups and came back in tatters; planes were shot to pieces—those that managed to make it back at all. All of the men grew ragged and tense, most of them unable to keep food down just before a mission. Adam Stuart, although he did not reveal it, was worse off than most. He’d lost weight, for he could not keep food down, either. Keeping to himself, he was able to camouflage the nervousness that had come over him. Since he could not speak without the danger of his voice breaking, he spoke only in choppy, short, harsh, and guttural sounds, which gave him the impression of being an angry wolf.
Clint tried more than once to speak to him, but was turned away by the pilot’s abrupt manner. Only once did he break through. That was when he encountered Adam coming out of his quarters. There was no avoiding Clint, so Adam grunted and Clint said, “A rough mission, wasn’t it?”
“They’re all rough.”
Clint fell into stride with him and said, “I got a letter from your mother. It was a big help to me.”
Adam turned and stared at Clint. “What did she say?”
Surprised at Adam’s roughness, Clint said, “Nothing much. She asked how I was, said she was praying for me and Carol.”
Adam stared at the taller man, and said, “I suppose you’re praying for her, too.”
“Why yes, Sir, I am.”
“Even after she left you and went off with some civilian?”
Clint did not want to talk about Carol, at least not to Adam. He shook his head. “I love Carol, no matter what she’s done.”
Adam seemed to find this incredible. He stared at Clint, appeared to be thinking deeply. His face was thin, and there was an unusual nervous tick in his right eye. He did not want to continue the conversation, and said, “When you write back to my mother, tell her I’m doing all right.”
“I couldn’t do that, Adam.” They were alone now, and Clint knew that he might not have another chance. “You’re not all right. You’re going to pieces on the inside.”
“I do my job!”
“Yes, you do, but how much longer can you keep it up?”
Suddenly Adam looked at Clint with suspicion. “Did somebody put you up to talkin’ to me? Captain Derry, maybe? He’s always looking to label somebody a nut so he can bust ’em out, but I’m not nutty. There’s nothing wrong with me!”
Clint saw that it was useless to try to reason with him. “Adam, you’re only hurting yourself,” he said quietly. “I won’t try to say more, but your mother and your father have been praying for you all your life. God’s not going to let those prayers fall to the ground.” Seeing anger rise to Adam’s eyes, he turned and walked away without another word.
Adam stared after him, but as he turned and walked unsteadily along the gravel pathway, he could not get away from the even look he had seen in Clint’s eyes nor from what Clint had said about his parents. Finally, he gritted his teeth and said, “Kill Germans, that’s what I’m here for! We’ll kill ’em all, and then things will be all right again!”
THE LAST CHANCE
Awind blew from the southwest making the letter Clint held in his hand tremble slightly. It was a dank, rainy afternoon, and although the rain had stopped, it might start again at any moment. He was waiting outside headquarters to see if the mission would be scrubbed, and had picked up the v-mail letter just before he arrived. He opened it and saw his wife’s carefully structured handwriting. The letters were all round and thick and heavy, made with a blunt pencil:
Dear Clint,
I am writing to tell you how sorry I am for what I have done to you. I do not expect you to forgive me; I cannot even forgive myself. I now must live with my sins and the consequences of those actions. I know that you will want a divorce when you return home. I am living at home again as I have left Harry for good. You can have your lawyer contact me t
here; I’m sure you will want to see me as little as possible. I do truly regret messing up the best thing in my life, my marriage to you. I wish you all the best and a safe return home.
Carol
Clint looked at the letter blankly and shoved it back into his shirt pocket. There was an unseeing look on his face, and for a moment the war and missions and possible death in the skies all seemed very far away. All he could think of was Carol’s face, and to him it was as sweet as it had ever been. God had given him a great victory, for after the first rush of rage and anger that had come as a natural result of being abandoned and betrayed, he had fought a good fight, and now every day he breathed a prayer for Carol, that she would discover God’s forgiveness.
“Hey, the word’s out!” Clint looked up to see Moon Wilson coming by. “It’s going to be Berlin.”
“In this weather?”
“I guess so. Whoever knows why these idiots send us out in weather like this and let the pretty days go by. I guess we better get going.”
The base began to swarm with activity, but things had changed in the Eighth Air Force. They had been worn down and were operating, almost, with a skeleton crew of ships. Help was on the way, or so the rumor went, but it had not arrived yet. Some of the men said bitterly that it would never arrive. “They’re going to use us up, get us all killed, that’s what they’re going to do,” one disgruntled bombardier had complained that morning at breakfast. “They won’t give up as long as there’s one of us left alive!”
Clint found himself too busy to think about such things. It was basically his skill that kept the Last Chance flying, for she had taken flak and bullets, everything except exploding cannon fire. “She’s been a good ship,” Clint said finally as the crew began to get on board for the mission. He patted the aluminum skin of the ship almost affectionately, much as he would have patted a hard-working horse back on the farm. He grinned at his own action, then looked up to see Adam and the copilot entering. Adam’s face, he saw, was drawn tight, and he looked at Clint without a word.
Adam had deliberately looked past Clint Stuart, for he wanted no conversation with him. His nerves were drawn out as thin as a piece of wire, and he kept his mind only on the business of flying the ship. He moved the Last Chance around into position and then took off. He thought suddenly, as he almost always did, I may get killed on this one. A wry and rather bitter thought came to him: I used to worry about flat tires and cavities in my teeth. Now, I don’t think much about those things. He glanced across at the copilot, Felson, whose blonde hair was covered by the flying helmet and thought, I don’t know this man. I don’t want to get close to him—he may get killed, too, like Tex Smith.
The Last Chance roared into the air, and the formation was made up quickly. Adam gave commands crisply as they flew. He was aware that Felson was a rather talkative young man. He had heard him at the mess talking to other pilots, but Felson never said one word to him. This brought a pang for a moment to Adam, but it was too late for him to change his ways.
Finally, the coast appeared underneath them, and tension began to creep over Adam. He was always afraid it would ruin his judgment, and desperately he sought to put everything out of his thoughts except flying the airplane. They were attacked twice on the way by small groups of fighter planes, but none of the Forts went down.
“There’s Germany up ahead!” It was Felson who did speak this time, and Adam glanced ahead through the windshield and gave the command over the loudspeaker: “Pull the bomb fuse pins!”
“Yes, Sir!” the answer came at once.
The flak started blooming almost at once, and Adam thought how thin the Plexiglas and the aluminum skin were as the shells exploded.
“Bombardier to pilot!”
“Go ahead!”
“We’re on the bomb run!”
Two fighters were reportedly flying low and to the left, and soon the cry came, “Radio to crew! Radio to crew! Fighters eleven o’clock high! Blast —em!”
The action grew hot and heavy, and two Forts went down. The planes went straight through the exploding burst of flak, and once again Adam thought how there was a strange, deadly beauty in the black bursts. As they were approaching, almost ready to drop the bombs, Beans Cunningham yelled, “Four fighters coming in, trying to get that Fort that’s limping!”
Adam looked to see a B-17 swarmed by the fighters. It was as if wasps were zipping in. He had read articles about wounded Fortresses holding off ten or fifteen fighters. Most of that, he knew, was purely imaginary; it did not happen against experienced fighters. He saw the Fort go down, and hated the sight of the German fighters as they wagged their wings in a token of victory. “I wish they were all dead!” he said aloud.
Startled by the sudden outburst, Felson said, “What did you say, Stuart?”
“I said, I wish they were all dead!”
Felson stared at him curiously. “Well, they’re probably wishing the same thing about us.”
They were suddenly jolted by the tail gunner’s voice: “There’s a lone 109 coming in fast!”
“What’s he going to do?” Adam demanded.
“I don’t know, but he’s going around to our left.”
Adam watched as the audacious fighter pilot pulled ahead of the formation, circled to eleven o’clock and, with guns blazing, came right at the entire formation.
“Look at that guy!” Ozzie Franklin, the new radio operator and waist gunner said. “He’s got guts!”
Adam said, “Shoot! Shoot!” But for some strange reason, nobody in the entire formation fired back. “Why don’t they shoot! Kill him! Knock him down!”
Felson watched as the plane passed through unharmed. “We could have got him,” he said. “I guess there’s a little chivalry left in us. The formation let him go right through. Well, it’s hard to kill a man with that much courage.”
Adam was shaking with fury. “That’s just the kind that needs to be killed!” He had a sudden memory of an incident he had read in a history book, when a courageous Yankee had ridden on horseback in full sight of the Confederate troops. The troops had let up a cheer, but Stonewall Jackson had said, “Kill him! Those with courage, those are the ones we want dead most.”
“Bombs away!” The Last Chance lurched upward, and at once, freed from the rigid flight plan, Adam threw the plane around in a tight turn, hoping the wings wouldn’t break off. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered.
One glance below revealed Berlin, flames rising from where the bombs were dropping in rows. He wondered who was dying down there. It seemed so clean and safe up here in the airplane, but he knew that down where those black clouds were rising, men and women and maybe children were dying, bleeding to death. He had thought of this often before and, as always, closed his mind to it. He pushed the aircraft ahead at maximum speed, joining others who were fleeing.
But they did not get far, for fifteen minutes later they were attacked by the most massive array of German fighter planes that he had ever seen. The sky seemed to be black with them, and the Last Chance shuddered with the recoil of all guns blazing. Soon the ammunition was running low, and Adam said, “Save it! We’ve got a long way to go!”
He had no sooner spoken when suddenly the whole aircraft seemed to be tossed like a toy. They had been struck by a rocket from one of the planes, or perhaps more than one. Looking out, Adam grabbed the yoke and struggled to right the plane, which started to fall toward the earth.
“Can you pull it out?” Felson yelled.
“I don’t know. Look at that wing!”
Felson looked out and saw that the right wing was broken off. “It’ll never fly like that,” he cried. He started to move from his seat, but five Focke-Wulfs suddenly converged on the Last Chance. Adam tried to turn, but it was all he could do to keep the plane in the air. He felt the plane shake as the bullets struck, and he heard Felson cry out.
“Felson!” he yelled, but the copilot had been struck by several bullets. Blood stained his flying suit, and he t
ried to speak, but his eyes glazed over and he slumped dead in the copilot seat.
Back in the airplane, things were bad. Clint had run out of ammunition at the top turret. From his position he could see the broken wing and did not think that the airplane could last long.
When he had no more ammunition at all, he jumped down and ran to the cockpit. “You can’t fly it like this, Adam.”
“No, have the men bail out! I’ll hold it as long as I can. Tell ’em not to open their chutes right away. Those Germans might, hit ’em as they go down!”
Clint ran through the airplane, and when he got to the waist he saw that Franklin, the new radio operator, was slumped on the floor. As he bent over him, Manny Columbo shook his head as he turned his gun. “He got it; he’s dead.”
“Bail out, Manny!” Clint ran down to the ball turret, yelling at Beans. “Come out of there; we got to get out of this thing, Beans!” He was aware that Moon Wilson, the bombardier, was approaching. “Adam’s been hit in the leg, and he can’t hold this plane level! It’s going down!
“Bail out, Moon!”
“What about Asa, back in the tail?”
“I’ll get him!”
Clint ran as the plane bucked and he swayed more than once, falling down. Finally, he got to the tail gun and said, “Asa, bail out! We’re going down!”
Instantly Clint started making his way forward to the cockpit. He put on his own parachute, aware that the plane was rolling all over the sky. As he passed by the waist, he looked out and saw four parachutes. “At least the guys got away.” But then he thought about Adam. Quickly he crawled his way to the cockpit. When he got there he saw Adam, his face white as a sheet, hanging on to the control yoke. Adam turned around and whispered, “Get out of here! Bail out, Clint!”
Winds of Change Page 26
