Wingmen (9781310207280) (11 page)

14 July 1943
: A
four-plane division of Chance Vought F4U Corsairs arrived today
from U.S.S.
Bunker
Hill,
with accompanying orders attaching the aircraft to
VF-20 for an indefinite period of time. One division of Curtiss
SB2C Helldivers arrived also for attachment to VB-20. The official
purpose behind the attachment of these aircraft to date has not
been specified.

20 July 1943
: Aircraft
Number 20-F-18 piloted by Ensign Luden Hodges, USN, crashed into
the sea today near the center of gunnery area Bravo-8. Reasons for
the crash are unknown, although the pilot of the tow aircraft
reported that Ensign Hodges failed to pull out of an overhead
firing run from seven thousand feet. Search aircraft included those
aircraft engaged in the exercise and a single aircraft from PatRon
37, NAS Ford Island. No trace of Ensign Hodges or his aircraft have
been found. He is officially listed as missing and presumed
dead.

21 July 1943
: Official
orders have been received placing the air group on alert and
specifying an Embarkation / Sailing date of 28 July 1943, for
purposes of training and flight-testing of the new aircraft.
Duration of the cruise and location of the training area to be
utilized has not been released.

24 July 1943
: VF-20
organizational changes brought about by the loss of Ensign Hodges
are as follows: Ensign Frederick Trusteau, USN, is assigned to fly
wing on Squadron Commander Lieutenant Commander Jack Hardigan,
USN.

“All right, gentlemen,
this cruise is going to be something none of us has ever been on
before: a wartime training cruise. Mister Higgins and I spent a
couple of hours yesterday with the skippers and execs and the air
group commander, together with the
Ironsides
air officer and captain, to get
our signals down straight.”

Fred Trusteau
hardened his face into a show-nothing mask and considered the
skipper through half-closed eyes. Jack Hardigan leaned back against
the edge of the large table in front of the ready room, tapping a
pointer carelessly against his left shoe. His voice seemed to fill
the room and surround Fred with its resonance.

“The purpose of
this mission is to operate the ships and aircraft of the task force
under wartime conditions where the threat of enemy intervention
isn’t expected. They haven’t told us where this area will be, but I
think we can assume that it’ll be between Pearl and the west coast.
As to how long the cruise will last, your guess is as good as
mine.” The skipper braced his palms on the edge of the table,
casually splayed his long legs toward the quiet, seated pilots. Had
he noticed, Fred would have been surprised at their seriousness,
but his attention was on the man in front, for reasons no one save
him could know.

“VF-20’s
secondary mission is the testing and qualification of the Chance
Vought Corsair as a ship-borne interceptor. When we finish here, I
want to see the guys I picked to fly the Corsairs aboard and we’ll
work out the details.” Jack pointed toward the blackboard, on which
was chalked a diagram of a carrier task force. Great pie-shaped
wedges emanated from the center of the circular formation of ships.
He said: “The ship will keep a minimum four-plane CAP on duty
during all daylight hours. Mister Higgins will post the duty
rotation for even and odd days by tomorrow morning and keep it
current on board. Don’t rely on your memory as to when you’ll pull
the duty. Check a couple of times every day.
Ironsides
will also be
employing standard antisubmarine searches, close in and extended,
so don’t think the bomber jockeys are getting off easy.”

A battle was
raging in Fred’s mind as he considered the man with the pointer at
the front of the ready room. He had given up trying to concentrate
and retain the information that the skipper was giving
out—information that could quite conceivably save his life. He was
instead trying to sort out the first incredible rush of sensations
that had nearly smothered him only minutes before. When the skipper
had first taken the floor to begin the briefing, he had, for no
reason at all, remembered the dream. In a way, it was as if a
switch had been thrown, and a light had come on, revealing with
perfect clarity what had heretofore been hidden in darkness,
struggling to get out. And now that it was out, Fred wasn’t at all
sure he wanted it that way.

The skipper was
speaking: “The ship will go to General Quarters every morning
before dawn and remain at stations until the launching of the
morning CAP or whenever the captain decides to secure. We can also
expect a couple of unscheduled GQs during each day and at least
three a week after dark. There’ll be some major battle problems,
maybe involving another carrier, but at this point they’re still
unscheduled. From what I hear, most of the ships in the group will
be brand-new so this is a training exercise all around. There’s
even going to be a makee-learn admiral aboard getting his sea legs
and learning port from starboard.”

“Peachy,” said
Lieutenant Brogan, “no flight gear in the wardroom.”

“Now boys,”
said Lieutenant Schuster, “start with the fork on the outside.”
Laughter scattered through the room and some of the tension was
broken.

“Tomorrow
morning at this time Mister Schuster will conduct a half-hour
seminar on wardroom etiquette.”

“Me,
Skipper?”

“You’re the
only Schuster we’ve got. Tomorrow this time.”

“Sure,
Skipper.”

Fred decided he
liked the way the skipper trimmed his sideburns in the middle of
his ears and kept a neat quarter-inch of skin around them. He would
let his sideburns grow out some and ask the barber to trim them
that way.

“This admiral’s
name is Berkey and he’s an air officer from way back. He’s going to
be looking primarily at big strike coordination and radio
procedure. CAP vectoring is another of his interests. What I’m
trying to get across is radio discipline. It’s important that you
not come up on the circuit unless you have something important to
say, and for most of you that’s nothing. And the first person I
hear calling the
Ironsides
or any other ship by anything other than
its designated call sign won’t see a promotion for a long, long
time.”

Fred studied
the skipper’s hands as he talked, noting a small black bruise on
his right thumbnail. His hands were big, like Fred’s father’s had
been, but the skipper kept his nails trimmed and cleaned. And his
father could never have handled himself the way the skipper did
now. His father had not been either approachable or self-assured.
It took me all
these years to appreciate that
, thought Fred.
But why is it
important?

“The squadron
will form up on the twenty-eighth at about 0700 at fifteen thousand
feet. Rendezvous point is point Zebra, due southeast of the
airfield and one mile off the beach. Formation is squadron in
echelon right, divisions in finger four. I’m telling you this now
so that in case there’s an early sailing announcement, we can skip
a briefing and get into the air without delay. And another thing:
Beginning tomorrow morning, every pilot, without exception, will
pack up his gear in regulation luggage with his name on it and
leave it on his bunk, ready to go. Sailing dates are always subject
to change and often as not they’re moved forward. And clear all
your personal junk out of the ready room here. When we leave,
everything here will go with you in the aircraft, and I don’t want
to see anything except regulation flying gear.”

“Ah shoot,
Skipper,” said one of the veterans, “my girl wanted to see the
ship.”

“No ukuleles,
no tennis rackets, and no booze. If you can’t get it into a sea bag
and a B-4, it doesn’t go with us.”

“How about my
golf clubs, Skipper?” asked Lieutenant Brogan.

“Only admirals
can have golf clubs aboard.” Jack looked down at a piece of paper
on the table and read silently for a few seconds. “One other thing.
We’ll be bunking in four- and six-man staterooms for the most part.
They’ve decided it’s best that the occupants of each compartment be
taken from all three squadrons, so you’ll probably have a bomber
jockey in the rack over you.”

“Why’s that,
Skipper?” asked a young ensign.

Duane Higgins
broke in and said primly, “It’s to promote better social relations
between the pilots of the air group,” and a scattering of laughter
ran through the room.

“Think about
it,” said Jack. He had been leaning against the front edge of the
table. Now he easily hefted himself into a sitting position on top
of it. Fred watched his every movement. Jack continued: “With the
ship in enemy waters, with subs taking pot shots at her, you don’t
want all your important men in one spot. A single torpedo could
kill them all at one time.”

“That’s why the
captain and the admiral don’t share a stateroom,” said Brogan.

“And it’s also
to promote better social relations between the pilots of the air
group.” Jack smiled and scanned his pilots. “Are there any
questions you need answers to?” Heads turned and looked but no
hands were raised. “Mister Higgins has the stateroom assignments,
so look him up sometime before you get aboard. If I don’t get the
chance to talk to you again, assemble in the ready room on board as
soon as you get there. Okay?” He scanned the room one more time.
“Let’s do some flying.” Jack slid off the table while the room
dissolved into stretching, talking men, but Fred stayed seated and
watched the skipper. He liked the way the older man had kept his
body in shape, the way his clothes enhanced his trimness. He was
wearing a pair of gabardine slacks instead of the usual starched
wash khaki. The top button was closed under his tie. His shoes
gleamed. He was a very handsome man.

“You asleep,
Trusty?” Hammerstein towered over him and tousled his hair.

“Just thinking,
Frank.” Fred stood up and stretched. In the front of the room, the
three lieutenants the skipper had picked to work with the Corsairs
had clustered around him.

“About girls no
doubt.” Frank laughed.

“Yeah,” he
said. “Girls.”

“For the
benefit of the less experienced members of the squadron, we will
now attempt to demonstrate proper wardroom etiquette.” Lieutenant
Schuster stood in the front of the ready room, facing the seated
ensigns and a few j.g.’s. Under his arm was a blue, bound copy of
The Division
Officer’s Guide
, which he now held up for all to see. “Our
reference work will be Emily Post’s favorite manual, one which is
both near and dear to our hearts.” Some of the ensigns
snickered.

Schuster walked
to the door leading to the outside of the building and opened it.
Four pilots came in, all wearing their round, officer’s combination
caps. Across the front of each man’s chest was pinned a wide strip
of paper with words written on it. Lieutenant Bradley’s chest said
“XO.” Frank Hammerstein’s said “Engineer.” Duane Higgins’ read
“Guns.” Lieutenant (j.g.) Bracker was “Aviator.”

“These are four
typical officers from the complement of an aircraft carrier,” said
Schuster. “They have just entered the wardroom for the evening
meal, which is called dinner.”

Fred sat
uncomfortably in his chair and tried to get into the spirit of
Schuster’s ridiculous lecture. But his mind kept wandering back to
what he had realized exactly twenty-four hours earlier as he sat in
this same chair and watched while the Skipper talked. The thoughts
and feelings were no less real when Jack Hardigan was out of his
sight; if anything, they were stronger. He had lain awake most of
the night exploring them. The pilots in front masquerading as fools
had no effect on him whatever.

“Gee, fellas,”
said Bracker the aviator, “what’s for supper?” The other three men
walked sullenly to the far end of the table, where they sat and
huddled together, hands in pockets.

“Stupid
Aviator,” said Higgins loudly.

Lieutenant
Brogan came through the door now, wearing a blue baseball cap with
piles of gold braid on the bill. His chest was covered with
clattering medals and rows and rows of ribbons.

The three men
at the end of the table all spoke sweetly in unison. “Good evening
to you, Captain.”

Brogan walked
into the aviator on purpose, knocking his hat off. “Stupid
Aviator,” he muttered.

“Good evening,
Captain,” said Bracker.

“Never speak to
the captain unless spoken to by him,” said Schuster. The captain
joined the men at the far end of the table. XO pulled out a chair
at the end and offered to seat him. Engineer and Guns pulled out
their chairs and sat down. Aviator did the same.