Command Decision

by William Wister Haines

“Not yet, sir.”

  “Get an aggregate for tomorrow’s serviceability from all groups as fast as possible.”

  Haley vanished. Dennis faced Kane steadily.

  “Looks like forty-two sir, with two in the ditch.”

  “Worse than yesterday,” said Kane softly.

  “They got their target, sir.”

  Evans decided this had gone far enough. Stepping forward he addressed himself with a bland face to General Kane.

  “Does the General want the photographers in here or outside, sir?”

  Kane looked as nonplused as Evans had known he would. It was Prescott who saw his superior’s indecision and turned severely on Evans.

  “What photographers, Sergeant?”

  “From Division, Wing and Groups Publicity, sir.”

  “Who ordered them and on what authority?”

  “I did, sir. All generals have their pictures taken wherever they go. They say it helps the boys’ morale, sir.”

  Prescott was still wondering how to deal with this straight-faced insolence when the General smiled appreciatively on Evans.

  “Well, of course if it helps morale…” He picked up his cap, straightened his blouse a little, and extended the smile to Dennis. “We’ll be going along, General… probably drop in on some of your interrogations at the groups.”

  Dennis picked up his own cap. “As you say, sir.”

  “No, no, my boy. I wouldn’t think of taking you away from here just now. Get me that claims total as soon as possible and be sure to get good pictures of the battle damage today.”

  “As you say, sir.”

  Kane ushered the rest of them ahead of him now rapidly, and as they paused at the door to let him go out first he spoke hastily over his shoulder.

  “Don’t send tomorrow’s field order until I get back.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  As the anteroom door closed on them Dennis whirled and put his head into the Ops room. Haley had his eyes riveted on the teleprinter and headphones on his ears but instinct brought him to rigid attention even before Dennis barked at him.

  “Anything on Ted yet?”

  “Not yet, sir.”

  He slammed the door and began walking a tight tense circle around the office, consciously keeping away from the window with its view of the burning Virgin. He couldn’t help that now; he couldn’t help any of it. He had to get himself together against the night’s work. The return of Evans helped. He stopped in his tracks and regarded the Sergeant quizzically. He was going to speak to him about his manners one day. But some deep, warming instinct told Dennis that Evans’s manners this afternoon had been intentional.

  “One of these days you’re going to wisecrack yourself right into the infantry, Sergeant.”

  “Sir, if I hadn’t told ’em they was cameras outside we never would have got rid of them.”

  The candor of the confession was completely disarming. This was plain, sly insubordination. Rebuking it would be ingratitude. Dennis tried to sound severely impersonal.

  “They’re coming back. Alert the cook and get the guest hut ready just in case.”

  “Sir, maybe if I was to speak to the cook…”

  “None of that. We’ll have to give them a good dinner.”

  As Evans went out Dennis reflected that if the boy hadn’t been a combat gunner he really would have spoken to him. He heard the footsteps recede through the anteroom and then, apparently, turn back with a lighter, quicker approaching beat. He set his face and made up his mind that if Evans should be up to further deviltry, he would speak to him this time for his own good. Then, with the opening of the door, he felt himself go a little limp and sat down quickly in the chair by the map table as Ted Martin walked in, grinning.

  Chapter 5

  Dennis had been through this often enough to recover rapidly. The first confirmation of Ted’s safety seemed always to paralyze him.

  It was so now. Ted’s normal buoyancy was sagging. The deep grime on his face was powder smoke, slashed with an inverted V that outlined the sides of his nose with a telltale imprint of skin washed clean by sweat and tears along the edges of his oxygen mask. Then, for the first time, Dennis saw the large dark blotches of dried blood on the white silk scarf and dirty coveralls. Yet Ted had walked in lightly, grinning.

  “You all right?”

  “Not a scratch.”

  “What’s that blood?”

  The grin faded. “My radioman.”

  “Bad?”

  “Dead.”

  He saw now that the blood patches extended even to Ted’s hands. He must have taken off his gloves but his fingers showed none of the puffy discoloration of freezing.

  “Anyone else?”

  “Not in our plane. Got a drink?”

  Dennis was in self-possession again as he fetched the bottle from his desk and extended it to Ted.

  “Aren’t they serving combat ration?”

  “Yeah, but I wanted to see you quick. Hell, Casey, this is your last and I’ve drunk nearly half of it already.”

  “That’s what it’s for.”

  Ted drank from the bottle with long greedy gulps but Dennis knew that he could empty it, and probably would, without showing the effect. The fierce inner combustion that produced his unique vitality seemed to absorb alcohol for fuel. Dennis noticed that he was bloodstained all the way down to his socks but the face that reappeared from behind the bottle was grinning again now.

  “What happened?”

  “Twenty millimeter right on the radio panel.” Ted poured some more whiskey right through his uptilted throat. “Mmmm, that’s better. I always said we should have fought this war ten years ago.”

  “How do you think I feel?”

  Ted covered his instant contrition with impudence.

  “Sorry, Grandpa,” said he and drank again.

  Dennis regretted the inadvertence. He didn’t begrudge Ted’s five years of advantage and it was useless to harp on it. At that moment Haley walked in on them, his instant grin at the sight of Ted disappearing into a sober formality.

  “Another straggler from the 693rd, sir. Landed away from base.”

  “In a village, I suppose?”

  “No, sir.” Haley permitted himself another smile. “Open field and no one injured. Category E, though.”

  “Good.” The whole day was improving. With his duty done Haley now considered it permissible to express a personal feeling.

  “I’m glad you got back today, Ted.”

  “So am I.” Martin grinned and thrust the bottle forward. “Shot, Ernie?”

  “Now…?” Haley always took one Scotch and soda in the Officers’ Club bar before dinner on nights when the board was scrubbed, if there was Scotch…. “Thanks, Ted. Maybe I’ll have one with you before dinner.”

  He hurried out, a little embarrassed by Martin’s open laughter but eager to tell the Adjutant that Ted was back. He decided in fact to tell the whole office. It would cheer everyone up.

  “Tell me about it,” said Dennis. “Rough all the way?”

  Ted wiped his mouth on a bloody sleeve, stuck a cigarette into his face, sat down, and lifted his flying boots comfortably up onto the map table, nursing the bottle in his lap.

  “No. Milk run for thirty-four minutes after our fighters turned back. Then the whole damned G.A.F. jumped us.” He laughed suddenly. “Those guys must have a new directive over there, too. From then back to our fighters was almost continuous. Our fighters were swell today, too, Casey. From the way they hung on I bet some of ’em had to get out and push the last mile home.”

  “When did you get yours?”

  “Just after the strike flash. What about the rest?”

  “Looks like forty-one now, with two in the ditch.”

  “I was afraid of that from what I saw.”

  “Did you catch fire?”

  “Yeah. We were having it hot and heavy so I stayed on the nose gun and Goldberg went back and put it out. He should get something for it, too. One
of our waist gunners took one look at that fire and went right out through the bomb bay. I bet he’s playing checkers with their Intelligence right now.”

  Dennis considered the various pieces of ribbon and metal which they might give Goldberg for having successfully plied a fire extinguisher between two tankfuls of high-octane gasoline four and a half miles above Germany in a hail of incendiary bullets and explosive flak.

  “Goldberg can have what you recommend,” he said.

  “I’ll think it over. Then, after things quieted down, we tried a tourniquet on the kid but it was too late.”

  Martin shook his head, drank hard, and then put the bottle on the table with an air of coming to business.

  “Didn’t I just see Percent and Cliff Garnett in a car?”

  “Yeah,” said Dennis. “The joint’s full of big wheels today.”

  “Did Cliff bring any news of Helen?”

  “Letters; there’s no cable. I’ve been checking.”

  “Thanks. Casey, what’s Cliff doing so far from home?”

  “Visiting, he says.”

  “How long?”

  “Well,” Dennis hesitated, “he intimated just routine rubbernecking and high-level courier stuff.”

  “Intimated?”

  It was always useless to pretend with Ted. But before he had to say anything further Evans appeared in the anteroom door.

  “Sir, what do you want done with General Garnett’s foot locker and bedroll?”

  Ted repeated after him, “Garnett’s foot locker and bedroll?”

  “They just came in, sir. Glad you’re back, Colonel Martin.”

  “Put them in the Number One guest hut,” said Dennis.

  As Evans closed the door Martin jumped up and faced Dennis, his habitual grin a little awry. “Turn around, Casey.”

  Dennis did and felt fingers massaging his shoulder blades. He began to grin himself even before Martin spoke.

  “Well, the handle doesn’t stick out, anyway.”

  “Colonel,” said Dennis dryly, “you are speaking of your revered brother-in-law and a General Officer in the United States Army.”

  Martin did not respond; his voice had become serious.

  “Any brigadier in the army would give his next star for your job, Casey.”

  Dennis knew it was true. Incredible and remote as it all seemed now, he himself had dreamed of this job before getting it.

  “When I finish Stitch they can have it for corporal’s stripes. Thank God we’re two-thirds done.”

  Martin looked at the bottle. Then, turning away from it, he shook his head slowly at Dennis.

  “Casey, that’s the hell of it. We aren’t.”

  “Aren’t what! You did Posenleben yesterday and Schweinhafen today….”

  “We didn’t touch Schweinhafen today….” Dennis could see that Ted was sober and struggling to force the words out. “We plastered some goddamned place that looked exactly like it, forty miles from Schweinhafen.”

  2

  Dennis arose from his seat, took a long look at the whiskey bottle. Then he circled the room slowly twice, stopping for a long look at the sky through the window before he broke the silence.

  “How did it happen?”

  “Sighting mistake,” said Martin. “It was my fault, Casey. When we came to the I.P. there was a little cloud and we were fighting hard. I got one quick gander and it looked like Bindlegarsten so I turned the column. When we came on our run there sat a little town that looked more like Schweinhafen than Schweinhafen does; same confluence of rivers, railroad, and highway, same cathedral a mile to the left, same airfield, same phony road on the roof camouflage. I was still on the nose gun but I switched with Jake long enough for a look through the sight myself. We were both sure of it and Jake threw the whole load right down the chimney. The others salvoed into our smoke.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t Schweinhafen?” Dennis knew that he was simply resisting this as Garnett’s mind had resisted that performance graph. It was equally useless and he could see that it was hurting Ted to tell him, but he needed time to face the whole thing.

  “Because when we got our fire out and I got time to look down again there was Nurenover and we’d been rallying north.”

  “Sure you weren’t turned around in the fighting?”

  “I swung east, even with the fighting, to make sure. There was Schweinhafen without a scratch. I’m sorry, Casey.”

  “Why didn’t you correct your strike signal?”

  “My radioman was dead and the radio was blown all over Bavaria. I’d sent the flash before I realized the mistake.”

  Haley stuck his head into the doorway. “Embassy in London calling General Kane, sir.”

  “He’s visiting groups. Pick him up on a multiple. And put a red line security stop to all groups on any mention of today’s target; same for the theater censor.”

  Ted nodded approval but he waited for Haley to close the door before speaking. “Did you tell Kane we’d hit it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has he announced it?”

  “Not yet. This will stop it. What do you think you did hit?”

  “Goldberg’s checking maps and photos and target folders now,” said Ted, shrugging. “Whatever it was came apart like a powder mill.”

  They looked at each other through a short silence. Haley stuck his head through the door again.

  “Stop’s on, sir. And we’ve found another straggler. That leaves forty unreported and two in the ditch, so far.”

  “Battle damage?”

  “They’re still estimating, sir. Looks rough.”

  As Haley vanished this time Martin shook his head slowly.

  “Why don’t you castrate me?”

  “You’ve had this coming. It’s averages, Ted.”

  “Maybe. But what’s it going to do to Stitch?”

  Dennis forced a smile which he hoped looked natural.

  “Set us back a day. We’ll do Schweinhafen tomorrow and Fendelhorst Monday. I think the weather will hold.”

  “Will Kane?”

  “He’ll have to.”

  “Casey, he had cold feet before we started. I doubt if he ever came clean with Washington. What do you think he’s going to say to this?”

  Dennis shrugged. “Just another casualty for Operation Stitch.”

  “Casey!” Martin had come alive again now with hot, concerned protest. “Quit hurting about casualties. Most of these guys would be killed in a normal tour anyway. We’ve been through that before. This way they’re doing something that counts instead of running up phony statistics for that old…”

  “Ted, he’s our chief.”

  “Sure! Sure he’s our chief. And a good soldier is loyal. It says so in the book. But what’s he loyal to, anyway… to mortal, fallible men above him, half the time dopes and cowards with shelves full of rules they’ve made to protect themselves… or is he loyal to his own common sense… and to guys who have to do things that aren’t in the books, like Stitch? You better get your head out of the clouds before you lose it, Casey.”

  It was an old argument between them.

  “Kane didn’t forbid Stitch, Ted.”

  “Did he authorize it? Did he attend his weather conferences and go on record like a man? Not Kane. You’re the goat on this one.”

  “Other guys have been killed. If I get canned…”

  “If you get canned it’s the end of honest bombardment here and you know it! We’ll piddle away our planes building statistics over France while they build a defense over Germany that will make today’s losses look like a sprained ankle.”

  Even through the Ops room door Haley could hear the crackling fury of Martin’s voice and it made him shudder. He knew that the men had been inseparable friends for fifteen years but he considered that only the more reason why Martin should have been more discreet. It was true that Martin always behaved with correct subordination when the two were in public but now half the building could hear his anger, if not his words.
Most major generals would not have used that tone on Dennis. Some of the enlisted men were openly smiling now and Haley was glad of an excuse to enter the room. He found the two deadlocked, but as always they shut up in the presence of anyone else.

  “The Hemisphere Commander’s Public Relations Officer is calling General Kane, sir.”

  “I told you he’s at a group, probably in an Interrogation hut. And let me speak to him before P.R.O. does.”

  This time Martin’s heedless vehemence did not even await the full closing of the door.

  “You can’t tell him, Casey. You’re protecting him not to. And what about the guys we’ve already lost? If Kane quits now they’re wasted. We’ve either got to finish now or we might as well take this Air Army back to Arizona. It’s us or them, this week, boy, and you’re the only guy in the hemisphere with guts enough to see it through.”

  “How… if we don’t tell him?” asked Dennis warily.

  “Let him be happy with today’s pictures. Tomorrow we’ll knock off Fendelhorst. Then Monday, when he orders his usual month-end milk run to Calais or Dunkirk we’ll go back and clean up Schweinhafen.”

  It was so exactly what Dennis had been thinking himself that he could not suppress a guilty start. Of course it was natural; his mind and Ted’s had been working together for fifteen years. Even now Ted was watching him measuring it, following his clear understanding that it was a workable expedient. The return of Haley gave him a minute more.

  “Sixty-sixth Wing reports both of today’s reconnaissance planes now four hours overdue, sir.”

  Dennis cleared his head with a hard shake. “Keep that battle damage coming. I’ll call General Kane myself, Haley.”

  This time as Haley closed the door Martin jumped up, placing himself between Dennis and the phones on the desk.

  “Casey, today it’s recce planes; six weeks from now it will be whole divisions unless we finish this job.”

  “We’ll finish, Ted. We’ll make him finish.”

  He confronted Martin a second more, his face muscles struggling with his effort to make them show more assurance than he felt. He knew that he should take more time to think this through but he did not dare. He stepped past Martin decisively now; he had to do it and he had to do it fast, before he did think any more. Martin’s face was aghast under its powder smoke as he picked up the phone.