“Welcome home, Pick,” Martha Sayre Culhane’s father said, “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Pick said.
Dunn and Colonel Porter looked at them with wide eyes.
“How have you set this up, Porter?” Admiral Sayre asked.
“Captain Carstairs will go out there whenever you’re ready, Admiral. Attention on deck will be called. Captain Carstairs will then introduce you. We will then proceed to the microphone, with Dunn following you, and Pickering following Dunn. The three of us will take our seats.”
“Where’s the band? Why isn’t the band here?”
“They had a commitment elsewhere, Sir, I’m afraid,” Colonel Porter replied.
“Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now,” Admiral Sayre said somewhat petulantly. “But the band should have been here.”
“Sorry, Sir,” Colonel Porter said.
“OK. Let’s get rolling,” Admiral Sayre ordered.
As Captain Carstairs marched out to a lectern set up on a small stage, the others formed in line behind Admiral Sayre. Colonel Porter was next, and he was followed by Dunn, Pickering, and Admiral Sayre’s aide-de-camp, a Lieutenant J. G., who was carrying a manila envelope.
Carstairs reached the microphone.
“Attention on deck!” he ordered, his voice amplified over a loudspeaker system. Everybody in the bleachers came to attention… including, Pick noticed, four guys in flight suits sitting at the end of the bleachers in the front row.
The guys who flew the Wildcats in, he decided. They are almost certainly as deeply impressed with this bullshit as I am.
“Gentlemen,” Carstairs’ amplified voice announced, “Rear Admiral Richard B. Sayre, U.S. Navy.”
Admiral Sayre immediately started to march to the platform. The others followed. Pick became aware that Dunn, ahead of him, was going through the little shuffle known as “getting in step.” He realized that he was doing the same thing.
A Pavlovian reflex, he thought. It’s like riding a bicycle. Once you learn how, it is indelibly engraved on your brain. When the occasion arises you do it, just like one of Pavlov’s goddamned dogs.
Admiral Sayre marched toward the lectern. Colonel Porter then led the others toward a row of folding chairs while Sayre’s aide marched up and stood behind Admiral Sayre. A moment later, Sayre glanced over his shoulder to see that everyone was where they were supposed to be.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Admiral Sayre said to the microphone.
Three hundred male voices responded, “Good morning, Sir!”
“Take your seats, please,” Admiral Sayre ordered.
Cooling metal in the engine of the Wildcat behind Pick creaked. Without thinking about it, he looked over his shoulder. The first thing he thought was, Jesus, it’s brand new. Or at least it’s been superbly maintained. They even polished the sonofabitch.
Then he noticed that someone had painted miniature Japanese flags-a red circle on a white background-below the canopy. There were six of them: a row of five, and then a sixth meatball under the first meatball in the top row.
Now, what’s that bullshit supposed to mean? We didn’t paint meatballs on our airplanes. Nobody had his own airplane. We flew anything Big Steve could fix up well enough to get it in the air. Who is this asshole, flying a polished airplane around the States with meatballs painted on it?
Then he saw the neat lettering above the meatballs: 1/LT M. S. PICKERING, USMCR.
He switched his eyes to the other Wildcat, which was parked with its nose next to this one. There were two rows of meatballs painted on the fuselage below the canopy, ten in all, and 1/LT W. C. DUNN, USMCR was neatly lettered above them.
Jesus H. Christ!
“Gentlemen,” Admiral Sayre began his little talk, “I’m going to tell you something about our brothers in The Marine Corps. If you have not yet learned this, you should keep it in mind during your Naval service. When they get their hands on something valuable, they very rarely offer to share it with their brothers in the Navy.”
There was the expected laughter.
“In this case, when I learned that Colonel Porter had his hands on something valuable, I decided to invite the Navy to his party, in case doing so himself might slip his mind.”