Part 37 (1/2)
Ready for the big briefing tomorrow?”
”Sure. But I'll bet I can't teach you guys much.”
”You can. You're down there in the weeds eyeball to eyeball with the bad guys. You see things we never will.”
”Yeah. When you're tied to a tree you see a lot more than you ever wanted.”
Court nodded agreement. ”That must have been as rough as it comes. But you're looking great now, Tobes. You sure have come a long way since Bien Hoa.”
”A lot's happened since then,” Toby said. He held up a can of soda from the Night Owl bar. ”A long way from Bien Hoa.” He glanced at the door.
”Speaking of Bien Hoa, look who's coming in.”
Doc Russell, Baby Huey to his friends, marched through the screen door, shaking water from himself like a big, tubby hound-dog. He wore white shorts, a polo s.h.i.+rt, thongs, and was soaked. He waved at the men at the bar and walked over to Court and Toby.
”Like old times,” he said.
”Just talking about that,” Toby replied.
Doc Russell got two cans of soda from the bar, gave one to Court, and sat across from the two pilots. He and Court had an unspoken agreement not to drink around Toby.
”Last of the big-time drinkers, too. Cheers,” Toby said.
The three men took pulls at their sodas. Court lit a cigarette.
”Gonna kill you someday,” Toby said.
Court laughed. ”If I live long enough.”
”You think we're still winning the war, Court?” Doc Russell asked without preamble. At Bien Hoa on his first tour, Court had been easily convinced the Vietnam war was soon to be won.
Court leaned back and made a sardonic grin. ”Look, Doc, why don't you ask something easy, like explain the theory of relativity in twenty-five words or less.” Court waved his hand as if to brush away a mosquito.
”Next question.”
”That was enough.” Doc Russell laughed.
Toby looked up from his notes. ”Court, I see you have a pilot named Chet Griggs on your roster. Is he a young captain from the Air Training Command?”
”Yeah. You know him?”
”Somewhat. He tried to wash me out of pilot training.
When he couldn't, he prevented me from going into fighters.
That's why I'm driving O-2s around now.”
”What happened?” Doc Russell asked.
Toby told them the story of how he had rolled a T-38 through a barrel-roll maneuver while making an instrument letdown with his instructor pilot, Chet Griggs, in the front c.o.c.kpit. Toby didn't smile as he told the story. ”I guess I was, how to put-it ... bored, maybe.
Or s.h.i.+ning my a.s.s. Or something. I don't know why I did it. Chet put me up for elimination on the grounds of lack of discipline. I deserved it.” He had a look of self-disgust.
”Bad judgment, Tobes,” Court said, ”doing it with your IP on board.
You're lucky you're still in the Air Force.
Seeing as how he couldn't get you flushed out of pilot training, how do you think he's going to react to you here?”
Toby looked at him. ”Chet Griggs is a straight-up guy. If his boss says something will or will not happen, he salutes and says 'yes, sir'
and presses on. At Randolph he came to see me with the news in my BOQ room. We had a fight, but it was my fault. I was drunk. He was really nice about the whole thing. I guess he's accepted that I'm still in the Air Force and that I did get my wings. I think everything will be okay between us.”
Doc Russell looked around. ”Pretty dull for a Friday night.”
”For the Night Owls, it's Friday morning,” Court said.
”They're all off to work. And I'm off to bed. Big day tomorrow.”
”Not like the old days,” Doc Russell said. ”No more big nights at the O'Club.”
”It's a different war up here, Doc. Much different from Bien Hoa. More losses. Down there we drank to party and have fun. Up here it's more .
. .” He searched for a word.
”Survival?” Doc Russell offered. Court didn't answer.
The three men chatted a bit more about the new BX opening, the protesters in the States, and how much it rained in Asia. When the small talk trailed away, Toby said good night and went back to his room.
Doc Russell shook his head. ”You pilots. You always make things so complicated.”
”Complicated? What are you talking about? Pilots are the most uncomplicated and easygoing guys around. We're just simple line jocks.”
”Simple? No career fighter pilot is simple, and you're more complicated than most.”
”You sound like Susan.”
”Do I now? I'll bet she thinks you're a bit complicated.”
Court didn't answer right away, ”Perhaps. She pokes around like you do, asking questions why I feel this way or what I think about that.”
”What do you tell her?”
”Not much.”
Doc Russell went to the bar and brought back two shots of a good scotch.
”Sipping stuff,” he said, handed one to Court and sat down. ”I've known you for a long time as far as air wars go. We're on our second tour together, first Bien Hoa, now Udorn. So I'm confident I can tell you what I think and not have you jump through your grommet. I've put a lot of thought to your being so, ah, moody-broody, and this is what I've come up with. First,” he ticked off his finger, ”you're p.i.s.sed because you can't fly north and get that fifth MiG. Second, you're p.i.s.sed because you don't think the government is doing a good job running this war. Third, you suspect Colonel Bryce isn't being so buddy-buddy anymore because you're suddenly a detriment to his career, not an a.s.set.
Fourth, one of the reasons you're in the Air Force is to leave behind all that Hollywood notoriety c.r.a.p, and now your half-brother has his face and yours plastered over most of the magazines in the world. Fifth, you brood over a failed marriage that wasn't much of a marriage to begin with, and you brood over not finis.h.i.+ng the test-pilot school when in fact you got your test ticket but didn't go on to the aeros.p.a.ce portion.” His face softened. ”And lastly, you've had some losses. Ev Stern, Flak Apple, maybe even that Russian pilot.