Part 4 (1/2)
”Why don't you help your poor old husband stay awake, honey?”
”You taught me never to volunteer for anything too. Besides I'll perish if I don't get a little sleep. Tomorrow's a long day with the movers coming and everything.”
”Ben,” Bull cried out to his son in the darkness behind him. ”Ben, don't pretend you're asleep already.”
”I was asleep.”
”Get up here. Right behind me. You've got guard duty first.”
”Yes, sir,” Ben said, moving lightly over Matthew, and pus.h.i.+ng Okra to the back of the car. He rested his arms on the front seat and leaned forward so he could whisper to his father without disturbing the sleep of the others.
”We'll have a little man-to-man talk while the leathernecks get some sack time.”
”Sure, Dad,” Ben said hesitantly. ”What do you want to talk about?”
”Let me ask you a question first, sentry. What are the responsibilities of a man on guard duty?”
”I don't know them all, Dad. I forgot some of them.”
”Yeah, yeah. Your mother always slacks up on you when I go overseas. Give me the ones you know.”
”To walk my post in a military manner, keep always alert, and observing everything that takes place within sight or hearing. To spread the alarm in case of fire or disorder.”
”You skipped about a hundred of 'em. You ought to know those if you're going to be on duty. I'll give you a week to relearn 'em once we get to Ravenel.”
”I haven't looked at them for a long time, Dad.”
”Never make excuses.”
”Yes, sir.”
For the next ten miles the car was silent. Colonel Meecham chewed gum belligerently and Ben watched the white lines until he was mesmerized by their repet.i.tiveness. Both of them wanted to speak but could find no common ground to bridge the abyss that separated them as father and son.
”The Red Sox won,” Bull said finally.
”How did Williams do?” Ben asked.
”Knocked three runs in with a double.”
”Good.”
”I flew with Ted Williams in Korea. You knew that didn't you?”
”Yes, sir. Dad?” Ben said, beginning a conversation he had fantasized when his father was flying from the carrier off the French coast. ”Are you ever afraid when you fly?”
”That's a good question. Yeah. I'm always a little afraid when I fly. That's what makes me so d.a.m.n good. I've seen pilots who weren't afraid of anything, who would forget about checking their instruments, who flew by instinct as though they were immortal. I've p.i.s.sed on the graves of those poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds too. The pilot who isn't a little bit afraid always screws up and when you screw up bad in a jet, you get a corporal playing taps at the expense of the government.”
”What are you most afraid of when you fly?”
”Most afraid of. Hmmm,” Bull whispered, plucking at his left ear lobe. ”Good question, sportsfans. When I'm flying a jet, the thing I'm most afraid of is birds.”
”Birds?” Ben said letting a quick girlish giggle escape in his surprise.
”Yeah, birds,” his father answered defensively. ”You hit a bird going five hundred knots and it's like being hit with a bowling ball. Do you remember when Rip Tusc.u.m was killed in a plane crash about five years ago?”
”Yes, sir.”
”Well, he had his head taken off when he hit a buzzard.”
”Birds, eh, Popsy,” Ben intoned. ”I can see the headlines now. Bull Meecham killed by a parakeet. War Hero Brought Down by a Deadly Sapsucker.”
”Go ahead and laugh, jocko, but I break out into a cold sweat when I spot a flock of birds up yonder. The bad thing is that they're usually past you by the time you see 'em. I mean they are behind you before your brain registers that you've just pa.s.sed a bird. You'll know what I mean some day.”
”How, Dad?”
”When you're a Marine pilot flying your own plane.”
Ben knew he was in familiar terrain now, old territory where the teasing had grooves and furrows of ground that had been plowed before.
”I think I'm going to be an Air Force pilot, Dad.”
”If you want to fly with p.u.s.s.ies it's O.K. with me,” Bull flared, then remembered that his son had teased him about the Air Force many times before. ”But if you want to fly with the best, you'll fly with the Corps, simple as that.”
”What if I really decide not to go in the Marine Corps, Dad?”
”I want you to go in for a four-year hitch at least. If you decide not to make a career out of it, it's your decision. But I want to pin the wings of gold on you after flight training. You'll be a good pilot, son. You're athletic and have the quick reflexes. The coordination. The only problem I see is you have a little too much of your mother in you, but Quantico will ream that out of your system.”
”I'll have plenty of time to decide whether to go into the Corps or not when I'm in college, Dad.”
”That's negative,” his father replied. ”I've already made that decision. You'll decide whether to stay in after four years.”
”That's not fair, Dad.”
”Who said your ol' Dad's ever been fair? Look, Ben, you'll thank me one day. Christ, the way the world's going now you may even luck out and get your wings when there's a war going on.”
”That's lucking out?” Ben exclaimed.
”Shh, not so loud. If you're trained as a fighter pilot you'll never be happy until you test your skills against an enemy pilot. That, boy, is a law.”
”What if I get killed?”
”Then you're a lousy pilot. Only lousy pilots get killed in combat. That's another law.”
Ben thought for a moment, then said, ”What about Uncle Dan? Your brother, the one killed in the Solomons. Was he a lousy pilot?”
The ma.s.sive shoulders tensed beside him. Then slowly they relaxed, but the car lurched forward, moving faster and faster until Bull answered by saying, ”Yes, Dan was a lousy pilot. But he was a brave one and he earned that K.I.A. on his tombstone. He earned it.”